Why is getting about the place on a bicycle in the UK so difficult?
Why is getting about the place on a bicycle in the Netherlands so easy?
Why are the people - for they are people after all - who design our roads and footpaths incapable of copying a system that simply works?
Why are our politicians incapable of tuning in to the zeitgeist and building the vote winning infrastructure that of course is the answer to the second question posed?
Why?
Tuesday, 2 June 2015
Monday, 18 May 2015
Holland Part 7 - Finale and Encore
A highly enjoyable long weekend was drawing to a close, The evening before I left I spent a couple of hours in the bar sampling yet more of the excellent local brews in the company of the barman and not another soul, the entire evening, not even the odd person popping in for a coffee. The hostel was very quiet, indeed my shared room was now my own personal room for the night which was nice considering I'd been sharing with two loud and prolonged snorers the previous two nights. Tonight was just myself and the Dahon for company...bliss.
Of course it transpires that the barman plays guitar, we chatted about music, guitars and then it happened, the inevitable the "these guys are great but have you ever heard of a guitarist called Django?" Suddenly we were in familiar territory and the rest of a great evening was spent talking, a bit of playing, a bit of listening and so on until closing time at the bar. That was it, my adventure was almost over.
In the morning I somewhat reluctantly packed my few belongings onto the Dahon and checked out although not until after partaking once again of an excellent breakfast and probably more coffee than was really necessary but there you go. I hadn't left myself enough time to cycle back to Schiphol so headed to Haarlem station to catch a train to Schiphol, stopping to take a few last bike infrastructure pictures on the way and this picture below to serve as a reminder to me to stop and look occasionally when people give you directions.
The train from Haarlem to Schiphol requires a change at Sloterdijk, no big deal except I had folded the Dahon and bagged it at Haarlem not anticipating having to leave the Sloterdijk building and carry it 150m across a concourse to the two platforms for Schiphol trains, DOH! Eventually I arrive at Schiphol and after a bit of messing around trying to find the baggage area, I left the bike at the "unusual or oddly shaped baggage" area and now the realisation hit me that it was all over and I was heading to... No, I'll resist the obvious and not post a picture of our wonderful, award-winning bicycle infrastructure with a suitably sarcastic caption. That's it, the end, 'til the next time :)
Well actually more like an evaluation. What did I learn about bikepacking this time around? Well for a start what I did wasn't bikepacking in its strictest sense, but since I carried all my belongings by bicycle, I think I'm just going to claim it anyway. Hindsight is a wonderful thing but I do wish I had thought to purchase a paper map in advance the way I have done any number of times in the UK, this would have saved me a lot of time and stress on my first few hours after arrival. I guess the flipside to that last sentence is if you're going to rely on GPS then make sure the device that hosts it is up to the job. If like me you're using a mobile phone make sure you a) have it fully charged before setting off and b) turn apps running in the background GPS makes big demands on the battery life of your device and for me now it's back to being "nice to have" but I'll stick to a traditional paper map and compass wherever possible.
The other thing I learned, and boy is this a sore one, if you're flying, ignore any platitudes the airlines tell you about packing your bike. Assume it will be treated with utter contempt and pack well around sensitive parts like derailleurs and brakes, I had read the blurb on my carriers' website about how a bike box would not be necessary on the small aircraft I would be flying on due to space considerations in the hold. This is quite probably true but no matter, when you unpack your bike at the start of a journey to find the front brake caliper broken, well you start to realise that that particular line may have the smell of BS about it. Then when you get home and unpack after the return journey and notice your chain slipping between two particular gears which were fine while you were away... On inspection at my LBS, who incidentally have been absolutely excellent in getting me sorted, it was found that the derailleur hanger was very slightly bent, but the killer was the rear wheel had buckled due to probable bad handling, eithyer throwing it onboard or by something heavy being thrown against it.
I had chosen to fly not simply because of the "convenience" of leaving from an airport close to home but also in no small part because of the nightmare of getting relatively inexpensive train tickets at shortish notice. Yes, I know "inexpensive" and "train tickets" in the same sentence, in the UK. By the time this had been fixed it occurred to me that I might have been as well paying the extra and taking the Newcastle ferry, definitely next time.
In terms of the experience while I was away the only thing I might do differently next time would be to take a few more pieces of lightweight clothing, it wasn't as if I was travelling great distances each day, carrying everything with me. Also I didn't carry much in terms of actual biking gear, the usual small set of tools I take with me on my commute and, unless I take a road bike next time, I won't be carrying padded shorts or technical tops blah, blah, actually you know what, I probably will still take them, you never know I might even get drop bars fitted to the Dahon :)
A folding bike is so versatile for a trip like this, with its luggage rack the Dahon* is more than up to the job. It was so convenient to just fold and stick on the train, and for that matter in my room at night. It would be remiss of me to write up any kind of assessment of my trip without mentioning yet again the fantastic approach Dutch authorities and planners have towards sustainable transport. The thing is this, having spoken to people whilst out and about what struck me was the way that getting around by bicycle is so effortless that no-one I spoke to thought of it. *other folding bike brands are available
Well, that's it then, if anyone's stuck with this little adventure since the start then I hope you were entertained, and so until next time, here's a picture of a canal...old stereotypes die hard sometimes. Oh yes, and if anyone's interested allow me to recommend "However" by Jasper van't Hof by way of introduction to some slightly "out there" 70's Euro jazz. You're welcome!
 |
| My room-mate for my final night. |
Of course it transpires that the barman plays guitar, we chatted about music, guitars and then it happened, the inevitable the "these guys are great but have you ever heard of a guitarist called Django?" Suddenly we were in familiar territory and the rest of a great evening was spent talking, a bit of playing, a bit of listening and so on until closing time at the bar. That was it, my adventure was almost over.
 |
| One of my barman's guitars, not working unfortunately. |
In the morning I somewhat reluctantly packed my few belongings onto the Dahon and checked out although not until after partaking once again of an excellent breakfast and probably more coffee than was really necessary but there you go. I hadn't left myself enough time to cycle back to Schiphol so headed to Haarlem station to catch a train to Schiphol, stopping to take a few last bike infrastructure pictures on the way and this picture below to serve as a reminder to me to stop and look occasionally when people give you directions.
 |
| Open your eyes and look, I mean really LOOK |
The train from Haarlem to Schiphol requires a change at Sloterdijk, no big deal except I had folded the Dahon and bagged it at Haarlem not anticipating having to leave the Sloterdijk building and carry it 150m across a concourse to the two platforms for Schiphol trains, DOH! Eventually I arrive at Schiphol and after a bit of messing around trying to find the baggage area, I left the bike at the "unusual or oddly shaped baggage" area and now the realisation hit me that it was all over and I was heading to... No, I'll resist the obvious and not post a picture of our wonderful, award-winning bicycle infrastructure with a suitably sarcastic caption. That's it, the end, 'til the next time :)
Encore
Well actually more like an evaluation. What did I learn about bikepacking this time around? Well for a start what I did wasn't bikepacking in its strictest sense, but since I carried all my belongings by bicycle, I think I'm just going to claim it anyway. Hindsight is a wonderful thing but I do wish I had thought to purchase a paper map in advance the way I have done any number of times in the UK, this would have saved me a lot of time and stress on my first few hours after arrival. I guess the flipside to that last sentence is if you're going to rely on GPS then make sure the device that hosts it is up to the job. If like me you're using a mobile phone make sure you a) have it fully charged before setting off and b) turn apps running in the background GPS makes big demands on the battery life of your device and for me now it's back to being "nice to have" but I'll stick to a traditional paper map and compass wherever possible.
The other thing I learned, and boy is this a sore one, if you're flying, ignore any platitudes the airlines tell you about packing your bike. Assume it will be treated with utter contempt and pack well around sensitive parts like derailleurs and brakes, I had read the blurb on my carriers' website about how a bike box would not be necessary on the small aircraft I would be flying on due to space considerations in the hold. This is quite probably true but no matter, when you unpack your bike at the start of a journey to find the front brake caliper broken, well you start to realise that that particular line may have the smell of BS about it. Then when you get home and unpack after the return journey and notice your chain slipping between two particular gears which were fine while you were away... On inspection at my LBS, who incidentally have been absolutely excellent in getting me sorted, it was found that the derailleur hanger was very slightly bent, but the killer was the rear wheel had buckled due to probable bad handling, eithyer throwing it onboard or by something heavy being thrown against it.
I had chosen to fly not simply because of the "convenience" of leaving from an airport close to home but also in no small part because of the nightmare of getting relatively inexpensive train tickets at shortish notice. Yes, I know "inexpensive" and "train tickets" in the same sentence, in the UK. By the time this had been fixed it occurred to me that I might have been as well paying the extra and taking the Newcastle ferry, definitely next time.
In terms of the experience while I was away the only thing I might do differently next time would be to take a few more pieces of lightweight clothing, it wasn't as if I was travelling great distances each day, carrying everything with me. Also I didn't carry much in terms of actual biking gear, the usual small set of tools I take with me on my commute and, unless I take a road bike next time, I won't be carrying padded shorts or technical tops blah, blah, actually you know what, I probably will still take them, you never know I might even get drop bars fitted to the Dahon :)
A folding bike is so versatile for a trip like this, with its luggage rack the Dahon* is more than up to the job. It was so convenient to just fold and stick on the train, and for that matter in my room at night. It would be remiss of me to write up any kind of assessment of my trip without mentioning yet again the fantastic approach Dutch authorities and planners have towards sustainable transport. The thing is this, having spoken to people whilst out and about what struck me was the way that getting around by bicycle is so effortless that no-one I spoke to thought of it. *other folding bike brands are available
Well, that's it then, if anyone's stuck with this little adventure since the start then I hope you were entertained, and so until next time, here's a picture of a canal...old stereotypes die hard sometimes. Oh yes, and if anyone's interested allow me to recommend "However" by Jasper van't Hof by way of introduction to some slightly "out there" 70's Euro jazz. You're welcome!
 |
| The End |
Monday, 11 May 2015
Holland Part 6 - Rubato - Amsterdam
My final full day in Holland was going to be a bit of a pilgrimage. Firstly I would cycle into Amsterdam, first stop Palm Guitars, then The American Book Centre via the Flower Market, maybe a cheeky wee visit to Hajenius the art-deco cigar shop and last but certainly not least, a visit to the Jazz-Inn record shop.
Cycling into Amsterdam from Haarlem only takes about an hour and a half according to Google Maps but my experience of a couple of days prior to this suggested it may be otherwise depending on whether I make any bad decisions about my route but all of this was rendered moot when I woke up just in time to catch the end of "Lazy Sunday" breakfast in the hostel. By the time I was ready to leave time had passed to such an extent that it seemed to me wise to simply cycle to the train, park the bike at Haarlem Station then take the train into Amsterdam, after all I know it well enough now to not need a map to go where I want to go. Train ticket purchased, I was bound for Amsterdam for a day travelling on foot, and to be honest I'm glad I did park the bike because Amsterdam was positively heaving with tourists on bikes.
So I've got to say if you are a bikey person you may not find anything of too much interest in this post, but if like me you think it's about the journey not about the bike then please read on. I've cycled in Amsterdam before and to be honest it's been written about so much I doubt I could add anything new to the discussion. It's a lovely way to get around the city but I'd made my decision to go on foot and had a brief itinerary as outlined above. Here's the thing though, as I walked across the road towards the Damrak I noticed the smell of weed so much more than I ever have done before and a lot more litter and general run-down feel around the Martelaarsgracht area just across from the station. Maybe I'm just a bit older and the prospect of wild weekends in...well anywhere no longer have the appeal they once had, but I couldn't help feeling that maybe this isn't the best way to greet a tourist stepping off the train for the first time, but then again who am I to judge? No-one was fighting or falling about the place drunk and vomiting so maybe I should just carry on, so...
I decided to head straight to Palm Guitars and in doing so straight to my first disappointment. Closed. Looks like this is more than a temporary closure, it seems the building was flooded late 2014 and has been closed ever since. The company is still trading online but I had been looking forward to snaking between the lines of weird and wonderful and sometimes downright rare acoustic guitars, mandolins, and so on but it was not to be. OK then, off to the flower market and have a browse there, meh, I've been here before, plenty of times. I know! The American Book Centre quick look around, nothing doing, hmm last time I was here I walked out with a huge tome under my arm - AC/DC Complete Guitar Transcriptions, for my daughter of course, who else would it be for? This time however nothing, not a thing. Walk on, thinking "wish I'd brought the bike", walk down an unpromising side street, a very attractive window display of silks and satins catches my eye, there are some rather nice looking pastries on display too. I step inside, result! The shop is run by a Portugeuse lady who of course speaks English very well and naturally I have to have a coffee and a sublime custard tart fresh out of a tiny oven by the window. Of course she has been to Scotland and asks if I'm from Edinburgh, I'm not but know it well enough from my frequent visits there to play and listen to music, so we chat about Edinburgh and indyref and Portugal where I've been a few times although not for many years. We are joined by a Dutch gentleman who is entertaining his young nephew from Paris for a few days whilst the boys' father is away on business, an hour passes, I could have happily sat enjoying the conversation all afternoon but I pay and somewhat reluctantly move on.
By this time something has occurred to me, I've been to Amsterdam so many times now, it's a bit like, well going through to Edinburgh. I'm so familiar with where to go and where not to go that although I love visiting, it has maybe lost a bit of the sparkle through over-familiarity, or am I just getting older and jaded? I wish I'd brought the bike on the train.
Actually, bear with me and allow me to backtrack for a bit, I think I've some explaining to do.
When I first visited Holland in 1980 I stayed at a campsite not far from the Olympic Stadium. I had gone there on a bit of a pilgrimage, being a big fan of what I would describe as Euro jazz or jazz-rock, I was always on the look out in Glasgow for albums by bands with names like Association PC, Solution, Pork Pie (yes really). Most of the music I was listening to or searching for was being created by a core of Dutch musicians and so together with my friend David we booked student rail tickets and headed off on my search for vinyl in Amsterdam. Frankly I had no idea where I was going to find any of this stuff but I knew I had to go to Amsterdam and somehow it would, well just happen. At the risk of this turning into a somewhat tedious autobiography, the bottom line was I came back to Glasgow with a ludicrous weight of vinyl in my backpack, all of which I still possess to this day and still enjoy. Indeed this one trip arguably led me down a musical road that I've followed all my life, but now I'm really digressing.
I was fascinated back then by how so many people went around Amsterdam on bicycles, I no longer had one back home, my Raleigh something or other with 20 inch wheels having being gifted to my cousin after gathering rust in my parents cellar for ages after I fell out of love with cycling - I had wanted a "proper bike" or what's now known as a road bike. I used to love hanging around big Angus's house across the road when the gang were round fixing and customising their bikes that looked so amazing to me with their drop handlebars, thin tubing and so on. For my birthday I got the Raleigh, I don't know what it was called, maybe a Raleigh 20? It was a bike, I was pleased, but I wasn't ecstatic, it wasn't a road bike, and I remember being left way behind the others when rides up to the Barrhead dams were happening, someone would wait but then they'd have to go on for fear of being left behind themselves. I fell out of love with the bike. Yet here I was standing by a canal in 21st century Amsterdam wishing I'd not left my Dahon 20 inch wheeled folder in Haarlem, oh the irony of it!
It wasn't a long walk, but having decided I'd had enough I would before leaving head over Vijzelgracht and check out the new Jazz-Inn which had apparently closed sometime in the '90s but re-opened a few years back due to popular demand no less. Two things struck me about the street, I hadn't been over that way for at least five years having cycled along it with the family last time we did a holiday there, but it now appears to be changing and for the better. There are a lot of works going on that I was told are part of a program to further pedestrianise that part of the city which is such a great thing, reclaiming public space back from motorised transport and making it pedestrian friendly seems such an excellent thing to do.
Up and down, across the road and up and down again. Could I find the fabled Jazz-Inn? In a word, no. I could have Googled it and phoned but somehow I felt that was wrong. Back in the day when I spotted it from the tram heading into the city centre it felt like I'd stumbled upon something special, I wanted it to remain that way, I wanted to stumble upon it again, but I didn't. I was disappointed, I knew of other record shops on my route back to CS but they wouldn't be quite the same, I'd tried to find a part of my youth but like that it's gone, period.
I found a few really interesting albums in a second hand vinyl store somewhere or other, I can't remember the street name but I could take you there. It was time to go back to the station and catch a train back to Haarlem, food was taken on as I hadn't placed a meal order at the hostel so after a huge plate of Bangers 'n Mash at O'Reilly's Irish Pub I wandered back up the Damrak and caught my train. I wish I'd taken my bike into A'dam with me.
Cycling into Amsterdam from Haarlem only takes about an hour and a half according to Google Maps but my experience of a couple of days prior to this suggested it may be otherwise depending on whether I make any bad decisions about my route but all of this was rendered moot when I woke up just in time to catch the end of "Lazy Sunday" breakfast in the hostel. By the time I was ready to leave time had passed to such an extent that it seemed to me wise to simply cycle to the train, park the bike at Haarlem Station then take the train into Amsterdam, after all I know it well enough now to not need a map to go where I want to go. Train ticket purchased, I was bound for Amsterdam for a day travelling on foot, and to be honest I'm glad I did park the bike because Amsterdam was positively heaving with tourists on bikes.
 |
| Back in the 'Dam |
So I've got to say if you are a bikey person you may not find anything of too much interest in this post, but if like me you think it's about the journey not about the bike then please read on. I've cycled in Amsterdam before and to be honest it's been written about so much I doubt I could add anything new to the discussion. It's a lovely way to get around the city but I'd made my decision to go on foot and had a brief itinerary as outlined above. Here's the thing though, as I walked across the road towards the Damrak I noticed the smell of weed so much more than I ever have done before and a lot more litter and general run-down feel around the Martelaarsgracht area just across from the station. Maybe I'm just a bit older and the prospect of wild weekends in...well anywhere no longer have the appeal they once had, but I couldn't help feeling that maybe this isn't the best way to greet a tourist stepping off the train for the first time, but then again who am I to judge? No-one was fighting or falling about the place drunk and vomiting so maybe I should just carry on, so...
 |
| On the way to nirvana, but Palm Guitars was closed... |
I decided to head straight to Palm Guitars and in doing so straight to my first disappointment. Closed. Looks like this is more than a temporary closure, it seems the building was flooded late 2014 and has been closed ever since. The company is still trading online but I had been looking forward to snaking between the lines of weird and wonderful and sometimes downright rare acoustic guitars, mandolins, and so on but it was not to be. OK then, off to the flower market and have a browse there, meh, I've been here before, plenty of times. I know! The American Book Centre quick look around, nothing doing, hmm last time I was here I walked out with a huge tome under my arm - AC/DC Complete Guitar Transcriptions, for my daughter of course, who else would it be for? This time however nothing, not a thing. Walk on, thinking "wish I'd brought the bike", walk down an unpromising side street, a very attractive window display of silks and satins catches my eye, there are some rather nice looking pastries on display too. I step inside, result! The shop is run by a Portugeuse lady who of course speaks English very well and naturally I have to have a coffee and a sublime custard tart fresh out of a tiny oven by the window. Of course she has been to Scotland and asks if I'm from Edinburgh, I'm not but know it well enough from my frequent visits there to play and listen to music, so we chat about Edinburgh and indyref and Portugal where I've been a few times although not for many years. We are joined by a Dutch gentleman who is entertaining his young nephew from Paris for a few days whilst the boys' father is away on business, an hour passes, I could have happily sat enjoying the conversation all afternoon but I pay and somewhat reluctantly move on.
By this time something has occurred to me, I've been to Amsterdam so many times now, it's a bit like, well going through to Edinburgh. I'm so familiar with where to go and where not to go that although I love visiting, it has maybe lost a bit of the sparkle through over-familiarity, or am I just getting older and jaded? I wish I'd brought the bike on the train.
Actually, bear with me and allow me to backtrack for a bit, I think I've some explaining to do.
When I first visited Holland in 1980 I stayed at a campsite not far from the Olympic Stadium. I had gone there on a bit of a pilgrimage, being a big fan of what I would describe as Euro jazz or jazz-rock, I was always on the look out in Glasgow for albums by bands with names like Association PC, Solution, Pork Pie (yes really). Most of the music I was listening to or searching for was being created by a core of Dutch musicians and so together with my friend David we booked student rail tickets and headed off on my search for vinyl in Amsterdam. Frankly I had no idea where I was going to find any of this stuff but I knew I had to go to Amsterdam and somehow it would, well just happen. At the risk of this turning into a somewhat tedious autobiography, the bottom line was I came back to Glasgow with a ludicrous weight of vinyl in my backpack, all of which I still possess to this day and still enjoy. Indeed this one trip arguably led me down a musical road that I've followed all my life, but now I'm really digressing.
 |
| See, I wasn't joking. Fabulous jazz-rock. I'll get me coat... |
 |
| Would I find what I was looking for...again? |
I was fascinated back then by how so many people went around Amsterdam on bicycles, I no longer had one back home, my Raleigh something or other with 20 inch wheels having being gifted to my cousin after gathering rust in my parents cellar for ages after I fell out of love with cycling - I had wanted a "proper bike" or what's now known as a road bike. I used to love hanging around big Angus's house across the road when the gang were round fixing and customising their bikes that looked so amazing to me with their drop handlebars, thin tubing and so on. For my birthday I got the Raleigh, I don't know what it was called, maybe a Raleigh 20? It was a bike, I was pleased, but I wasn't ecstatic, it wasn't a road bike, and I remember being left way behind the others when rides up to the Barrhead dams were happening, someone would wait but then they'd have to go on for fear of being left behind themselves. I fell out of love with the bike. Yet here I was standing by a canal in 21st century Amsterdam wishing I'd not left my Dahon 20 inch wheeled folder in Haarlem, oh the irony of it!
It wasn't a long walk, but having decided I'd had enough I would before leaving head over Vijzelgracht and check out the new Jazz-Inn which had apparently closed sometime in the '90s but re-opened a few years back due to popular demand no less. Two things struck me about the street, I hadn't been over that way for at least five years having cycled along it with the family last time we did a holiday there, but it now appears to be changing and for the better. There are a lot of works going on that I was told are part of a program to further pedestrianise that part of the city which is such a great thing, reclaiming public space back from motorised transport and making it pedestrian friendly seems such an excellent thing to do.
 |
| Vijzelgracht, but where was the Jazz-Inn? |
Up and down, across the road and up and down again. Could I find the fabled Jazz-Inn? In a word, no. I could have Googled it and phoned but somehow I felt that was wrong. Back in the day when I spotted it from the tram heading into the city centre it felt like I'd stumbled upon something special, I wanted it to remain that way, I wanted to stumble upon it again, but I didn't. I was disappointed, I knew of other record shops on my route back to CS but they wouldn't be quite the same, I'd tried to find a part of my youth but like that it's gone, period.
I found a few really interesting albums in a second hand vinyl store somewhere or other, I can't remember the street name but I could take you there. It was time to go back to the station and catch a train back to Haarlem, food was taken on as I hadn't placed a meal order at the hostel so after a huge plate of Bangers 'n Mash at O'Reilly's Irish Pub I wandered back up the Damrak and caught my train. I wish I'd taken my bike into A'dam with me.
Wednesday, 6 May 2015
Holland Part 5 - Rubato - Haarlem
And it came to pass... I was now settled into my accomodation and decided to spend a day cycling in and around the city of Haarlem and a day in Amsterdam. Haarlem is a lovely old Dutch city which I found a pleasure to cycle around. I am told that the infrastructure that enables this is actually pretty standard for Holland neither exceptional nor dreadfully awful, in fact one of my reasons for choosing Haarlem for a visit was this very thing, plus the fabulous organ in St Bova's cathedral it must also be said. I've posted some pictures of my day in Haarlem on other social media and had fairly mixed responses to them, specifically the cycle infrastructure stuff so let me just say this; Haarlem is a beautiful city that is well worth a visit if you are a cyclist, pedestrian, probably even a motorist, there didn't seem to be any shortage of cars, indeed the Dutch seem to have as many cars as the British you just don't have to mix it with them, which is nice.
Saturday is market day in Haarlem and for the first time in my life I encountered the problem of where to park my bike. Not through a total lack of provision a la UK but a massive over abundance of bikes looking for somewhere to lock up. I managed to squeeze into a vacant slot in a stand but then encountered the rookie folding bike rider problem of how to lock the frame to one of those wheel slot stands? After solving this Krypton Factor style task and getting my hands nicely oiled in the process I set off for a wander round town
As well as being a bit of a bicycle enthusiast, I am also known in certain circles as a player of swing jazz guitar but what people don't know much, if anything at all about, is my love of church organs, and Sint Bavo's cathedral in Haarlem has one of the finest examples of a preserved organ built by Christian Muller of Amsterdam.
Among the luminaries to have played this instrument are Handel, Mendelssohn and a young Mozart. Unfortunately hearing a performance on this instrument remains on my bucket-list as there was nothing taking place until May in terms of public performance so I vowed to come back during the summer months and do the double header of Haarlem and Sint Laurencekerke in Alkmaar.
I wasn't too disappointed not hearing the great organ, the trip certainly wasn't planned around it, so a wander round the market was in order, picking up a cracking vegetarian pizza made from scratch by an Italian chap whose clay oven appeared to be hooked up to a cargo bike but I may be mistaken, wishful thinking over actual memory perhaps. No mistaking how good his pizza was or how good the giant stroopwaffel I had afterwards with an excellent coffee to wash it down.
When I eventually found my bike again it was time to pedal around and about Haarlem enjoying the sunshine and the architecture of this beautiful city, all of which was made possible by km after km of bike lanes segregated from motor traffic, sheer bliss. Wisely I used the opportunity to familiarise myself with the centre of Haarlem, figuring out the best routes back to the hostel and just doing what I love to do which is pootling around town aimlessly stopping to take the odd photograph of some old building or bit of bike infrastructure or whatever else took my fancy, a lovely day out.
Early evening was soon upon me and after a 20 min or so ride back to the hostel I wasted no time at all tucking into a delicious supper before retiring to the bar to sample more of the excellent local beers with great company in the form of friendly bar staff and a large group of middle-aged men and women from the southern part of Holland who were already the worse for wear with the local ale when they arrived but were great fun throughout the evening. I myself retired later thinking of my projected trip to Amsterdam in the morning.
Saturday is market day in Haarlem and for the first time in my life I encountered the problem of where to park my bike. Not through a total lack of provision a la UK but a massive over abundance of bikes looking for somewhere to lock up. I managed to squeeze into a vacant slot in a stand but then encountered the rookie folding bike rider problem of how to lock the frame to one of those wheel slot stands? After solving this Krypton Factor style task and getting my hands nicely oiled in the process I set off for a wander round town
As well as being a bit of a bicycle enthusiast, I am also known in certain circles as a player of swing jazz guitar but what people don't know much, if anything at all about, is my love of church organs, and Sint Bavo's cathedral in Haarlem has one of the finest examples of a preserved organ built by Christian Muller of Amsterdam.
Among the luminaries to have played this instrument are Handel, Mendelssohn and a young Mozart. Unfortunately hearing a performance on this instrument remains on my bucket-list as there was nothing taking place until May in terms of public performance so I vowed to come back during the summer months and do the double header of Haarlem and Sint Laurencekerke in Alkmaar.
I wasn't too disappointed not hearing the great organ, the trip certainly wasn't planned around it, so a wander round the market was in order, picking up a cracking vegetarian pizza made from scratch by an Italian chap whose clay oven appeared to be hooked up to a cargo bike but I may be mistaken, wishful thinking over actual memory perhaps. No mistaking how good his pizza was or how good the giant stroopwaffel I had afterwards with an excellent coffee to wash it down.
When I eventually found my bike again it was time to pedal around and about Haarlem enjoying the sunshine and the architecture of this beautiful city, all of which was made possible by km after km of bike lanes segregated from motor traffic, sheer bliss. Wisely I used the opportunity to familiarise myself with the centre of Haarlem, figuring out the best routes back to the hostel and just doing what I love to do which is pootling around town aimlessly stopping to take the odd photograph of some old building or bit of bike infrastructure or whatever else took my fancy, a lovely day out.
Tuesday, 21 April 2015
Holland Part 4 - Largo
I'd finally arrived at my destination only instead of taking my estimated "just over an hour" and arriving at 15:00ish, I had pulled up outside the front door at around 17:15. This was no problem as check-in goes on until 23:00 but the problem it did present was that I had missed the order time for a hot meal and free coffees. Once again my Dutch hosts were to restore my faith in humanity when I was told in the bar that although I had missed the evening meal there were probably a few bits and pieces left over and that I was welcome to have them at no charge. I hope I don't get anyone into trouble for saying that but it was sheer bliss to tuck into a huge mound of sauteed vegetables, garlic wedges and lo and behold, there was one piece of pan fried chicken with a mushroom sauce that was, at that moment, perhaps the greatest meal I'd ever eaten.
I retired to the bar for a couple of excellent Jopen beers and my personal favourite Palm before the overpowering urge to sleep came over me.
"It's a new dawn, it's a new day...and I'm feeling good." Next morning, feeling refreshed after a hot shower and excellent breakfast in the dining room I was out on the bike into the sunshine.
I did have a quick look around to try and find my error yesterday. Naturally as soon as I got to the main road I started to recognise features from Google Streetview and of course very quickly found the turn off I had missed the previous evening that had led to a less than magical mystery tour of the district of Velserbroek about three km off course. I needed a completely stress free day so decided against any long bike rides to anywhere, despite my room-mate offering me a lift to a big market he was intending to visit somewhere near Ijmuiden, I instead opted to cycle into Haarlem and just chill.
OK, I would at this point suggest if you're not interested in cycling infrastructure then what follows may seem to be a series of rather dull photographs and descriptions of paving stones and roads but it was one of the reasons I chose to visit, so...
Haarlem is by all accounts a fairly standard Dutch city in terms of cycling infrastructure and yet with one exception on the day I arrived, I never felt ill at ease let alone in any danger from being mangled by speeding motor traffic, even on sidestreets, or rat-runs as we call them somewhat depressingly in the UK. Before I start posting pictures if streets, let me make one thing clear, in the city of Haarlem there is a smattering of this stuff.
Yes indeed it's the UKs favourite shared use path. Now here's the thing, I travelled quite a few Km over three days using a mix of these paths and segregated bike paths, sometimes sharing with other bikes, sometimes pedestrians even dog walkers didn't present too much of problem. I don't know if it's just me but it seemed that by designating a path through a park as a bikepath it somehow had more validity than the variety of things that crop up in the UK. This was only a path through a park which led to a canal at the end of which was a junction crossing a wide, busy road.
The junctions had a delay to allow for bicycles to get a head start
on motor traffic. Even with segregation this is really essential to
prevent bicycles being "right hooked" by turning motor traffic. I'm no traffic engineer but the layout of junctions and the provision of segregated paths seemed entirely logical once I started using them, even as a pedestrian it took no time to figure out what was going on.
Haarlem has plenty examples of pretty good, pretty poor and, in my opinion, exceptionally good cycling infrastructure. Without inducing too much tedium, check out the good:
The not so good:
And the "yes, that's the way to do it"
Were it not for the fact that so many other people have written screeds about this stuff I would go on and on. The interesting thing for me was how quickly I started to judge the merits of one section of infra from another. I was only there three days but within hours I was thinking, "well that's a pretty good idea" or "wow that's an improvement on the UK", to the wow, "why can't we do this?" response. Indeed the road right outside the hostel had absolutely no segregation between bicycles and motor traffic but didn't seem to phase anyone particularly despite the local buses driving through at a speed I thought I wouldn't be comfortable sharing with.
In truth I DID use this road and had no issues, in fact the place I did feel uncomfortable was, unsurprisingly, the painted bike lane labelled "Looks familiar..."
 |
| Bliss... |
I retired to the bar for a couple of excellent Jopen beers and my personal favourite Palm before the overpowering urge to sleep came over me.
"It's a new dawn, it's a new day...and I'm feeling good." Next morning, feeling refreshed after a hot shower and excellent breakfast in the dining room I was out on the bike into the sunshine.
I did have a quick look around to try and find my error yesterday. Naturally as soon as I got to the main road I started to recognise features from Google Streetview and of course very quickly found the turn off I had missed the previous evening that had led to a less than magical mystery tour of the district of Velserbroek about three km off course. I needed a completely stress free day so decided against any long bike rides to anywhere, despite my room-mate offering me a lift to a big market he was intending to visit somewhere near Ijmuiden, I instead opted to cycle into Haarlem and just chill.
OK, I would at this point suggest if you're not interested in cycling infrastructure then what follows may seem to be a series of rather dull photographs and descriptions of paving stones and roads but it was one of the reasons I chose to visit, so...
Haarlem is by all accounts a fairly standard Dutch city in terms of cycling infrastructure and yet with one exception on the day I arrived, I never felt ill at ease let alone in any danger from being mangled by speeding motor traffic, even on sidestreets, or rat-runs as we call them somewhat depressingly in the UK. Before I start posting pictures if streets, let me make one thing clear, in the city of Haarlem there is a smattering of this stuff.
 | |||||||
| Shared use path for cycling and walking |
 |
| Fairly typical junction, green light delay for cycles |
Haarlem has plenty examples of pretty good, pretty poor and, in my opinion, exceptionally good cycling infrastructure. Without inducing too much tedium, check out the good:
 |
| Complete segregation from motor traffic |
The not so good:
 |
| Looks familiar... |
And the "yes, that's the way to do it"
 |
| Now THAT's an underpass! |
Were it not for the fact that so many other people have written screeds about this stuff I would go on and on. The interesting thing for me was how quickly I started to judge the merits of one section of infra from another. I was only there three days but within hours I was thinking, "well that's a pretty good idea" or "wow that's an improvement on the UK", to the wow, "why can't we do this?" response. Indeed the road right outside the hostel had absolutely no segregation between bicycles and motor traffic but didn't seem to phase anyone particularly despite the local buses driving through at a speed I thought I wouldn't be comfortable sharing with.
 |
| Right outside my accomodation, no segregation here |
Thursday, 2 April 2015
Holland Part 3 - Presto
I'd been cycling on and on for what was beginning to feel like hours, it wasn't but you know how it is when you're off track (or lost as some people say) and you think you're heading in the right direction. I stopped and checked the phone, yes I was off track but it looked relatively easy to recover, especially as I noticed the volume was turned down on the GPS navigator app, which started bellowing directions at me as soon as I turned it up. I was off again, in 150m turn left at...happy with this I carried on until something totally unexpected happened; the segregated cycle lane stopped and I was back in familiar territory mixing it with Friday afternoon "we've just finshed work, get out the way" traffic. Fortunately I only had to put up with a couple of hundred metres of this nonsense before I was back on a segregated bike path and heading towards my destination from the eastern approach.
I have to now admit I did stop someone and ask for directions at this point, I prefer local knowledge over satnav anyday. The guy I asked told me some very simple directions "straight over that bridge and about fifty metres further you have to make a left just past the canal".
With hindsight his instructions could not have been better, thank you sir, but when I think of a canal I think of something maybe wide, maybe has barges or houseboats. Anyway, off I go over the bridge and ok where's the canal? I cycle fifty, one hundred metres, I don't see a canal, further on perhaps? Keep going on and on and I'm at a big road junction...ok, turn around and go back, retrace my steps. Damn, I've gone way past the bridge, why didn't I spot that? I'm really thirsty, and getting a bit hungry so I stop another passer-by, "ah yes, go back to the bridge, turn slightly left, about fifty metres, turn left at the canal, you can't miss it although I wouldn't call it a canal myself..." I go back, again, "where the f*** is this canal?" It must be further on surely? I cycle on to the big junction, I see a MacDonalds, food and sugary drinks beckon, I head towards it, ah, can't go that way, follow the bike path and lo and behold a canal! At last I've found it, slightly more than fifty metres but there you go, except when I researched on Google Earth I'm sure there were houses on both sides, further along of course, that must be it. Anyway, forget Big Mac and Coke, I'm almost there, I think. Nope, backwards, forwards, I knew I was close but...of course GPS app, why hasn't this been...oh wait, I'm out of charge, phone is completely dead. At this point I thought, why didn't I purchase a good old fashioned map of the area? Map and compass and I'd be fine but no, I go for the techy route, not thinking of course that the camera app and numerous others were still running in the background whilst hungry GPS gobbles up my charge.
Let's pause the story for a moment. Remember my speech a few moments ago, "...when I think of a canal I think of something maybe wide, maybe has barges or houseboats."? Well here's the thing, I cannot imagine what was going on in my head when, following instructions, I blithely cycled past the cut off for Jan Gijzenpad.
In fairness to myself, looking at these Google Streetview images with the benefit of hindsight I can understand missing this cutoff from the cycle path.
However, I think not spotting a, what was it again? "Something maybe wide, maybe has barges or houseboats...". Yes, that was my fatal error, not keeping my eyes open and engaging brain. I now realise I've been out a long time since Hoofddorp with nothing to eat or drink, I am
starting to weary. I resort to the tried and trusted "Excuse me sir/ madam, I am a dumb tourist who has made a stupid error of judgement and I need help" approach. A young lady on foot said, "oh yes, go back to the big junction, cross over then head back to Haarlem". Back to Haarlem? Where on earth was I? So, onward, or should I say backward, to Haarlem. Excuse me, do you know where...? "I don't know it", "I don't speak English" fair enough, "of course I know it, it's right over there" pointing to the furthest away of a group of high flats. I will forever be in the debt of this young family who had a brief exchange in Dutch interpersed with occasional English phrases and smiles from the young lady with the baby in a bike seat. "OK, no problem, I'll take you there, it will be easier than trying to explain." I could have cried. We said goodbye to the lady and baby and the two of us made for the flats in the distance. Truthfully, I would have been going round in circles for even longer had I not stopped this family for directions. Within ten or so minutes we were standing outside the backpackers hostel. I offered to buy him a drink even a soft drink, he had to get back to help prepare dinner, I could not thank him enough.
I'd finally arrived at my destination only instead of taking my estimated "just over an hour" and arriving at 15:00ish, I had pulled up outside the front door at around 17:15. This was no problem as check-in goes on until 23:00 but the problem it did present was that I had missed the order time for a hot meal and free coffees. Once again my Dutch hosts were to restore my faith in humanity when I was told in the bar that although I had missed the evening meal there were probably a few bits and pieces left over and that I was welcome to have them at no charge. I hope I don't get anyone into trouble for saying that but it was sheer bliss to tuck into a huge mound of sauteed vegetables, garlic wedges and lo and behold, there was one piece of pan fried chicken with a mushroom sauce that was, at that moment, perhaps the greatest meal I'd ever eaten.
I retired to the bar for a couple of excellent Jopen beers and my personal favourite Palm before the overpowering urge to sleep came over me.
I have to now admit I did stop someone and ask for directions at this point, I prefer local knowledge over satnav anyday. The guy I asked told me some very simple directions "straight over that bridge and about fifty metres further you have to make a left just past the canal".
 |
| Schoterbrug, Haarlem, Courtesy Google Maps |
Let's pause the story for a moment. Remember my speech a few moments ago, "...when I think of a canal I think of something maybe wide, maybe has barges or houseboats."? Well here's the thing, I cannot imagine what was going on in my head when, following instructions, I blithely cycled past the cut off for Jan Gijzenpad.
 |
| Looking towards Jan Gijzenpad, Haarlem, Courtesy Google Maps |
 |
| Jan Gijzenvaart, Haarlem, Courtesy Google Maps |
starting to weary. I resort to the tried and trusted "Excuse me sir/ madam, I am a dumb tourist who has made a stupid error of judgement and I need help" approach. A young lady on foot said, "oh yes, go back to the big junction, cross over then head back to Haarlem". Back to Haarlem? Where on earth was I? So, onward, or should I say backward, to Haarlem. Excuse me, do you know where...? "I don't know it", "I don't speak English" fair enough, "of course I know it, it's right over there" pointing to the furthest away of a group of high flats. I will forever be in the debt of this young family who had a brief exchange in Dutch interpersed with occasional English phrases and smiles from the young lady with the baby in a bike seat. "OK, no problem, I'll take you there, it will be easier than trying to explain." I could have cried. We said goodbye to the lady and baby and the two of us made for the flats in the distance. Truthfully, I would have been going round in circles for even longer had I not stopped this family for directions. Within ten or so minutes we were standing outside the backpackers hostel. I offered to buy him a drink even a soft drink, he had to get back to help prepare dinner, I could not thank him enough.
 | |
| Stayokay Hostel, Haarlem |
I'd finally arrived at my destination only instead of taking my estimated "just over an hour" and arriving at 15:00ish, I had pulled up outside the front door at around 17:15. This was no problem as check-in goes on until 23:00 but the problem it did present was that I had missed the order time for a hot meal and free coffees. Once again my Dutch hosts were to restore my faith in humanity when I was told in the bar that although I had missed the evening meal there were probably a few bits and pieces left over and that I was welcome to have them at no charge. I hope I don't get anyone into trouble for saying that but it was sheer bliss to tuck into a huge mound of sauteed vegetables, garlic wedges and lo and behold, there was one piece of pan fried chicken with a mushroom sauce that was, at that moment, perhaps the greatest meal I'd ever eaten.
|
| Bliss... |
I retired to the bar for a couple of excellent Jopen beers and my personal favourite Palm before the overpowering urge to sleep came over me.
Friday, 20 March 2015
Holland Part 2 - Andante
So it came to pass. I was at long last standing on the concourse outside Schiphol Airport getting ready to unpack the Dahon and roll off for three days in bicycle nirvana. Trying to do this whilst a conga line of twenty somethings sang "Sean's just broke his iPhone, Sean's just broke his iPhone..." was not the easy task it should have been but nevertheless I persevered and soon the congoists disappeared off to party central no doubt.
As I lifted the cover off the bike something tap-tap-tapped along the ground, I couldn't see what it was but determined to get going I unfolded the bike and started rearranging my backpack to make it a bit lighter by sticking bike tools and my one extra pair of sensible shoes into my second bag that had been in with the bike and was now on my pannier rack. I was set to go, I went to push off and ... my front wheel was locked. A quick check revealed not quite the worst but bad enough. The front brake caliper was missing a little screw which had clearly been smashed off in transit and on quick inspection was what caused the tap-tapping sound on the ground earlier. This meant I had to release my front brake completely and do without for the next three days, again no hardship but really annoying when I thought about how I had followed packing instructions to the tee.
Looking at the picture now the thing that strikes me is how little I actually needed for three days. My backpack was pretty light considering I had packed fresh t-shirts etc for each day and included a very light showerproof Surface jacket, waterproof overshoes and gloves - like I said before, I've been to Holland quite a few times, I know what the weather can be like! One last stop, to take this picture, pump up the rear tyre some more and I was off at last, heading west to the small town of Hoofddorp after which I would head north using the bike paths to Haarlem. A leisurely ride which shouldn't have taken much more than an hour or so.
Friday was market day in Hoofddorp so after ten minutes trying to find a spot to lock up the bike I strolled through stalls that were not unlike the farmer's markets back home but with amazing cheeses, Spanish sausages, salamis, loads of fish and seafood in addition to the usual mobile phone accessories and other tat that you see in markets everywhere these days.
Of course it was absolutely obligatory that I stop and partake of excellent coffee and a custard pastry which I was later told were Portuguese in origin, which was a good decision considering what happened later...
Meantime all was good with the world and I had a cycle around Hoofddorp on cycle lanes that are maybe not quite in the exemplar category but to be honest were absolutely fine for everyday use. Separated from traffic was and is the key to getting cycling rates up and even in Hoofddorp it was easy to see that the bicycle was a safe, convenient way of making short journeys.
It occurred to me that I hadn't been taking any pictures of cycling infrastructure which was one of the things that enabled me to make this journey from one major city to another in a country I was barely familiar with, in terms of solo transport anyway if that makes sense.
It also struck me that I hadn't taken any pictures after Schiphol precisely because I had no reason to stop other than once at a junction to get my bearings just before making a right turn towards Hoofddorp. The sheer everydayness of cycling is precisely why I didn't stop; I didn't need to. I didn't need to get off to negotiate stupid barriers on paths, bollards on paths, road signs, street lights and so forth i.e. the usual UK list of rubbish that ticks the box labelled Infrastructure. This is a provincial Dutch town, completely and utterly ordinary, not some grand "cycling city" and yet I could get off a plane from another country, hop on a bicycle and travel from one city to another with no fear of traffic, well not entirely, but for almost the entire journey there was segregation, perhaps not gold standard paths but it was absolutely great to be able to travel at my own pace in absolute safety for the most part.
The journey from Hoofddorp to the north edge of Haarlem should take about an hour at a lesuirely pace and since the check-in at my accomodation wasn't until 15:00 I took my time. This gave me a chance to drink in the experience of cycling Dutch style, I mean proper Dutch style not the nonsense that UK planners think is Dutch. A good example is this bridge on the outskirts of Haarlem which I crossed after several km of pedaling across flat but picturesque landscape. I was also struck by the number of people I passed, or passed me, on this route. Not just people cycling but walkers, joggers and a quad bike operated by what looked to be one of the park rangers who I presume look after the upkeep of the surrounds. I digress.
At this point I have to admit I was becoming a bit bemused by what I believed to be a lack of signage for bicycle routes. I finally spotted a sign pointing in what I felt was the right direction to Haarlem and picked up a lovely cross country path that crossed several what we might call B-roads on the way to Haarlem. This however was where I made an error of judgement that had a knock-on effect later that, whilst certainly not disasterous, was a salutory lesson that I will come to later. I was feeling a bit peeved with the lack of signs on the bicycle route so switched on mobile data and GPS on my phone and used SatNav for what I expected would be a straightforward run into Haarlem, which it was.
A few photos of canals and very good quality cycle paths later and a
sign that simply said Haarlem loomed. This was unbelievable, I was on the
outskirts of the city in maybe 30 min or so of leisurely cycling since leaving Hoofddorp,
backpack and all. At some point when fiddling with my phone to take pictures I managed to turn the volume off on the GPS navigator and kept going until it occurred to me that I hadn't heard a peep from it for a while. On checking and discovering this I realised that I was way off my route and most annoyingly I was starting to get a bit low on the old juice, both the type that gives your legs energy as well as the type that powers your phone.
As I lifted the cover off the bike something tap-tap-tapped along the ground, I couldn't see what it was but determined to get going I unfolded the bike and started rearranging my backpack to make it a bit lighter by sticking bike tools and my one extra pair of sensible shoes into my second bag that had been in with the bike and was now on my pannier rack. I was set to go, I went to push off and ... my front wheel was locked. A quick check revealed not quite the worst but bad enough. The front brake caliper was missing a little screw which had clearly been smashed off in transit and on quick inspection was what caused the tap-tapping sound on the ground earlier. This meant I had to release my front brake completely and do without for the next three days, again no hardship but really annoying when I thought about how I had followed packing instructions to the tee.
 |
| Preparing to depart Schipol |
Friday was market day in Hoofddorp so after ten minutes trying to find a spot to lock up the bike I strolled through stalls that were not unlike the farmer's markets back home but with amazing cheeses, Spanish sausages, salamis, loads of fish and seafood in addition to the usual mobile phone accessories and other tat that you see in markets everywhere these days.
 |
| No need for words... |
Of course it was absolutely obligatory that I stop and partake of excellent coffee and a custard pastry which I was later told were Portuguese in origin, which was a good decision considering what happened later...
 |
| Market day in Hoofddorp |
It also struck me that I hadn't taken any pictures after Schiphol precisely because I had no reason to stop other than once at a junction to get my bearings just before making a right turn towards Hoofddorp. The sheer everydayness of cycling is precisely why I didn't stop; I didn't need to. I didn't need to get off to negotiate stupid barriers on paths, bollards on paths, road signs, street lights and so forth i.e. the usual UK list of rubbish that ticks the box labelled Infrastructure. This is a provincial Dutch town, completely and utterly ordinary, not some grand "cycling city" and yet I could get off a plane from another country, hop on a bicycle and travel from one city to another with no fear of traffic, well not entirely, but for almost the entire journey there was segregation, perhaps not gold standard paths but it was absolutely great to be able to travel at my own pace in absolute safety for the most part.
 |
| Bicycle bridge on the outskirts of Haarlem |
At this point I have to admit I was becoming a bit bemused by what I believed to be a lack of signage for bicycle routes. I finally spotted a sign pointing in what I felt was the right direction to Haarlem and picked up a lovely cross country path that crossed several what we might call B-roads on the way to Haarlem. This however was where I made an error of judgement that had a knock-on effect later that, whilst certainly not disasterous, was a salutory lesson that I will come to later. I was feeling a bit peeved with the lack of signs on the bicycle route so switched on mobile data and GPS on my phone and used SatNav for what I expected would be a straightforward run into Haarlem, which it was.
Tuesday, 17 March 2015
Holland Part 1 - Prelude
Strictly speaking the title should be Noord Holland Part 1, largest city Amsterdam, capital city Haarlem, but that would be splitting hairs a bit I think. I've visited this part of the world perhaps not many times but certainly as often as possible ever since I started in my first job and saved the money to go camping on a long since vanished campsite on the outskirts of Amsterdam near the Olympic Stadium. My reason for wanting to visit back then, we're talking 1980ish here, was unsurprisingly to do with music. I was then, as I still am, a big fan of a certain Dutch rock band and also lots of Euro jazz, so the trip was almost a pilgrimage for me, taking in as many record stores as I could find (no internet in those days) and spending all my hard saved guilders on albums I didn't even know existed. Perhaps I was at that age where Wordsworth noted that "I, at this time, Saw blessings spread around me like a sea
None of the above mentions cycling though, surely that's in part what this blog's all about? Well in part it is, so moving forward in time to 2008 and there is a change in my motivation for visiting, this visit was a family holiday, again camping but this time we had three bikes loaded onto the back of the car. A sutble change in mindset occurred during this trip brought about by a couple of minor events that lead to bigger things in recent years. Firstly we cycled everywhere, into town (Amstelveen), around the Amsterdamse Bos park, into Amsterdam itself to visit the museum quarter, indeed we even managed to get lost on the way back to the campsite one day ending up in Schipol airport! The second event was meeting an Irish family who had stopped over for a couple of nights before carrying on their journey by bikes down south, then east, then north and hopefully completing a big loop around the Netherlands back to Isjmuiden in a couple of weeks. At that time I thought these people were remarkable, I still admire them for it but realise now how unremarkable their journey was, but in a good way.
So to the present.I had made the decision to do a cycling trip to the Netherlands a couple of years ago but a bad fall and one broken wrist put paid swiftly to that idea. I knew it was time to resurrect it when Mrs Silver announced she was off to Brussels with her friends for a long weekend, and so the die was cast. Flights from Glasgow were booked in preference to the Newcastle ferry which would have been my preferred option, but given the nature of public transport in the UK a return ticket on the train at short notice was going to cost almost as much as the ferry. I was determined to do this using one of my own bikes and felt it was a no-brainer to take my recently acquired Dahon folder. Numerous tweets were exchanged with KLM about packing the bike, removing pedals, checking the batteries for my lights met safety standards, deflating tyres and so on. Every question was answered promptly with no ambiguity, what could possibly go wrong?
My flight out of Glasgow was at 9:25 on a Friday morning so I duly arrived to find I was the only person at the counter. I had already printed my boarding pass so I expected to simply check-in the bike and walk on board. Um, "You have a bicycle reservation for the hold yes?" indeed I did, but what I hadn't seen was the invitation to pay for its' transport. "That'll be £40 sir, or if you want pay for the return flight as well £80". After I got up off the floor the figures were double checked and sure enough I had to part with £80 to get the bike in the luggage hold. Being of a philosophical bent I figured that was still half the price of the train ticket I didn't purchase last week but there you go, what can I do but pay the lady. Thankfully plastic was accepted and feeling suitably idiotic for not checking properly, the bike was loaded on and I was on a plane bound for Schiphol.
The flight was over quickly, it only takes an hour or so, and before I knew it I was through passport control and into the Odd Sized Baggage area awaiting my one piece of baggage. This was duly collected and, in my eagerness to set off, carried the thing rather than putting it on a trolley and wheeling it outside. Five minutes later I was on the concourse outside Schipol preparing to assemble my bike whilst all around me was the sound of unbridled 20-something excitement at arriving in what was presumably for them "party central". So whilst the young folk headed off to a weekend of, well whatever, I started to unpack and prepared to pedal off into the midday sun.
None of the above mentions cycling though, surely that's in part what this blog's all about? Well in part it is, so moving forward in time to 2008 and there is a change in my motivation for visiting, this visit was a family holiday, again camping but this time we had three bikes loaded onto the back of the car. A sutble change in mindset occurred during this trip brought about by a couple of minor events that lead to bigger things in recent years. Firstly we cycled everywhere, into town (Amstelveen), around the Amsterdamse Bos park, into Amsterdam itself to visit the museum quarter, indeed we even managed to get lost on the way back to the campsite one day ending up in Schipol airport! The second event was meeting an Irish family who had stopped over for a couple of nights before carrying on their journey by bikes down south, then east, then north and hopefully completing a big loop around the Netherlands back to Isjmuiden in a couple of weeks. At that time I thought these people were remarkable, I still admire them for it but realise now how unremarkable their journey was, but in a good way.
So to the present.I had made the decision to do a cycling trip to the Netherlands a couple of years ago but a bad fall and one broken wrist put paid swiftly to that idea. I knew it was time to resurrect it when Mrs Silver announced she was off to Brussels with her friends for a long weekend, and so the die was cast. Flights from Glasgow were booked in preference to the Newcastle ferry which would have been my preferred option, but given the nature of public transport in the UK a return ticket on the train at short notice was going to cost almost as much as the ferry. I was determined to do this using one of my own bikes and felt it was a no-brainer to take my recently acquired Dahon folder. Numerous tweets were exchanged with KLM about packing the bike, removing pedals, checking the batteries for my lights met safety standards, deflating tyres and so on. Every question was answered promptly with no ambiguity, what could possibly go wrong?
My flight out of Glasgow was at 9:25 on a Friday morning so I duly arrived to find I was the only person at the counter. I had already printed my boarding pass so I expected to simply check-in the bike and walk on board. Um, "You have a bicycle reservation for the hold yes?" indeed I did, but what I hadn't seen was the invitation to pay for its' transport. "That'll be £40 sir, or if you want pay for the return flight as well £80". After I got up off the floor the figures were double checked and sure enough I had to part with £80 to get the bike in the luggage hold. Being of a philosophical bent I figured that was still half the price of the train ticket I didn't purchase last week but there you go, what can I do but pay the lady. Thankfully plastic was accepted and feeling suitably idiotic for not checking properly, the bike was loaded on and I was on a plane bound for Schiphol.
The flight was over quickly, it only takes an hour or so, and before I knew it I was through passport control and into the Odd Sized Baggage area awaiting my one piece of baggage. This was duly collected and, in my eagerness to set off, carried the thing rather than putting it on a trolley and wheeling it outside. Five minutes later I was on the concourse outside Schipol preparing to assemble my bike whilst all around me was the sound of unbridled 20-something excitement at arriving in what was presumably for them "party central". So whilst the young folk headed off to a weekend of, well whatever, I started to unpack and prepared to pedal off into the midday sun.
Tuesday, 14 October 2014
Losing My Mojo
I'm losing my mojo. Yup, since returning from a relaxing holiday on mainland Europe something within me has changed, no longer am I Mr motivated going out and about on my bike as often as I could, no, since coming home I've started looking for excuses NOT to use my bike. Even for the journeys I've been doing for years like going to work, popping out to the shops, even the quick 10K route I devised for basic excercise. I'd get ready to go, then start messing around looking for keys, patches, pump, gloves oh they're the wrong gloves I need the other style....and so on. Any excuse to just get changed out of cycling gear back into my civvies, something's changed. I've lost my mojo.
So what happened? Let's rewind a couple of weeks. I went on a week long holiday to the north of Italy and found an absolutely vibrant cycling and motorcycling culture. The area I was in was filled with pedal powered tourists on their touring bikes, sometimes even on folding bikes set up for touring. There were bike hire shops all over so naturally I had to persuade my better half that we should hire bikes and head now the coast to x, y, z and explore that way rather than by bus. She commented that she wasn't sure about doing this without safety helmet or any other "cycling gear" other than the shorts and jersey I persuaded her to pack "just in case"... Bikes were duly hired, her first roundabout negotiated with no fuss meant we were now off. The day proved to be the best day out of the week, stopping for drinks, food, shopping, hop back on the bikes cycle down to the next town and repeat and so on. Wow I thought, when we get back I am going to make a concerted effort to stop being a lycra clad cyclist, even at the weekends, and try and just ride the bike for its own sake. My commute isn't that long, jeans, a tee-shirt and jacket will suffice for me from now on when I'm commuting.
Flash forward a week and I'm back in not so sunny Glasgow, a city run by a council that considers it to be a great city for cycling in. I have barely been out of the house a couple of minutes and I'm on Pollokshaws Road, now hang on, I don't usually do this route, I'm usually a quiet back streets kind of wuss who doesn't like the madness of A-roads. Ah but in Italy I was cycling on roads way narrower than this and mixing it with traffic without any problems of status. Back to Monday morning and I'm sitting in with the rest of the traffic including a few other people on bikes, all male, all clad in hi-viz, helmets etc. Remember I've just left home, joined the flow when there was a BIG gap in traffic, no problem, then I become aware of a car close behind me, uncomfortably close; we all have to stop, car behind me revvs a bit, then a bit more, then as I look over my shoulder a final aggressive revving but again has to stop because that's what traffic does. I thought of Italy briefly and was startled out of my reverie not by movement of traffic but by a car horn honking; this was breaking point. Stepping down off the folder, I turned in anger to confront this twat who was behaving like a playground bully only to find that the aggressor was a young girl probably no older than my own daughter sitting behind the wheel of her car completely ignorant of how her behaviour was affecting me never mind other road users, and I include motorists in that statement. I didn't snap, I didn't shout or jesticulate or threaten anything nasty, no I got back in the saddle took the first turn on the left and headed back towards home but then took a decision to carry on to work by a much longer, more circuitous route.
Forward two days to the Wednesday morning. I'm at Cowcaddens on the "Colleges Route", another world class piece of non-infrastructure that we are sold as being a "quiet route". This time my existence was threatened not by a car creeping up from behind but by one being driven out of a side street into my path. This time I had to brake quickly and jesture to the driver that yes, I am actually here, lights flashing and all. The irony this time was that when the car overtook me it was full of kids no doubt being delivered on the so-called "school run". At that moment I thought "f*** this", I may ride a bike to work to stay healthy, keep my fitness up, but I too am a parent and would prefer my kids to have a father for quite a while yet. On the way into work I bumped into a colleague who said "I saw what happened to you with that woman just now, she wasn't giving a f*** about you was she?" Turns out he was in a car waiting to turn into the same street from the other side of the road and had witnessed what happened. A confirmed "bloody cyclists" guy, he was nevertheless shocked by what he had just seen and a long conversation about road safety for bicycles and pedestrians ensued.
So what, I hear you say. Man up, take the lane and all the other crap that gets spouted about cycle safety is just that, utter crap. The next morning it started, hmm do I need a pannier or rucksack? Oh wait maybe I should change my lights, maybe I should go back to wearing hi-viz, maybe it's going to rain, damn it's getting late, better just get the train... For a few days this went on then I thought about all the times I've travelled in and out of Glasgow entirely uneventfuly; one morning a colleague called "It's raining, do you want a lift?" Why not I figured, and then spur of the moment on my way to the door I took a snap decision, grabbed the folder and chucked it in the back of his car. I've been on the bike most days since but I'm back to using the six mile route rather than the three, it's a bit on/ off, in fact it is mainly crap disconnected back streets and side roads because Glasgow, the city that gives itself awards for its' cycling infrastructure, has in fact no cycling infrastructure. It has little bits here and there all isolated from each other, never joined up that, were they to actually invest some money, COULD be joined up to create something useful. Meantime I'll continue to use the back streets to ride my bike to work because these are the only places I feel moderately safe in this city.
I'll leave you with this YouTube video, about thirty seconds in is about as far as you'll need to go as far as this post is concerned.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_uW0XnR7QI0
So what happened? Let's rewind a couple of weeks. I went on a week long holiday to the north of Italy and found an absolutely vibrant cycling and motorcycling culture. The area I was in was filled with pedal powered tourists on their touring bikes, sometimes even on folding bikes set up for touring. There were bike hire shops all over so naturally I had to persuade my better half that we should hire bikes and head now the coast to x, y, z and explore that way rather than by bus. She commented that she wasn't sure about doing this without safety helmet or any other "cycling gear" other than the shorts and jersey I persuaded her to pack "just in case"... Bikes were duly hired, her first roundabout negotiated with no fuss meant we were now off. The day proved to be the best day out of the week, stopping for drinks, food, shopping, hop back on the bikes cycle down to the next town and repeat and so on. Wow I thought, when we get back I am going to make a concerted effort to stop being a lycra clad cyclist, even at the weekends, and try and just ride the bike for its own sake. My commute isn't that long, jeans, a tee-shirt and jacket will suffice for me from now on when I'm commuting.
Flash forward a week and I'm back in not so sunny Glasgow, a city run by a council that considers it to be a great city for cycling in. I have barely been out of the house a couple of minutes and I'm on Pollokshaws Road, now hang on, I don't usually do this route, I'm usually a quiet back streets kind of wuss who doesn't like the madness of A-roads. Ah but in Italy I was cycling on roads way narrower than this and mixing it with traffic without any problems of status. Back to Monday morning and I'm sitting in with the rest of the traffic including a few other people on bikes, all male, all clad in hi-viz, helmets etc. Remember I've just left home, joined the flow when there was a BIG gap in traffic, no problem, then I become aware of a car close behind me, uncomfortably close; we all have to stop, car behind me revvs a bit, then a bit more, then as I look over my shoulder a final aggressive revving but again has to stop because that's what traffic does. I thought of Italy briefly and was startled out of my reverie not by movement of traffic but by a car horn honking; this was breaking point. Stepping down off the folder, I turned in anger to confront this twat who was behaving like a playground bully only to find that the aggressor was a young girl probably no older than my own daughter sitting behind the wheel of her car completely ignorant of how her behaviour was affecting me never mind other road users, and I include motorists in that statement. I didn't snap, I didn't shout or jesticulate or threaten anything nasty, no I got back in the saddle took the first turn on the left and headed back towards home but then took a decision to carry on to work by a much longer, more circuitous route.
Forward two days to the Wednesday morning. I'm at Cowcaddens on the "Colleges Route", another world class piece of non-infrastructure that we are sold as being a "quiet route". This time my existence was threatened not by a car creeping up from behind but by one being driven out of a side street into my path. This time I had to brake quickly and jesture to the driver that yes, I am actually here, lights flashing and all. The irony this time was that when the car overtook me it was full of kids no doubt being delivered on the so-called "school run". At that moment I thought "f*** this", I may ride a bike to work to stay healthy, keep my fitness up, but I too am a parent and would prefer my kids to have a father for quite a while yet. On the way into work I bumped into a colleague who said "I saw what happened to you with that woman just now, she wasn't giving a f*** about you was she?" Turns out he was in a car waiting to turn into the same street from the other side of the road and had witnessed what happened. A confirmed "bloody cyclists" guy, he was nevertheless shocked by what he had just seen and a long conversation about road safety for bicycles and pedestrians ensued.
So what, I hear you say. Man up, take the lane and all the other crap that gets spouted about cycle safety is just that, utter crap. The next morning it started, hmm do I need a pannier or rucksack? Oh wait maybe I should change my lights, maybe I should go back to wearing hi-viz, maybe it's going to rain, damn it's getting late, better just get the train... For a few days this went on then I thought about all the times I've travelled in and out of Glasgow entirely uneventfuly; one morning a colleague called "It's raining, do you want a lift?" Why not I figured, and then spur of the moment on my way to the door I took a snap decision, grabbed the folder and chucked it in the back of his car. I've been on the bike most days since but I'm back to using the six mile route rather than the three, it's a bit on/ off, in fact it is mainly crap disconnected back streets and side roads because Glasgow, the city that gives itself awards for its' cycling infrastructure, has in fact no cycling infrastructure. It has little bits here and there all isolated from each other, never joined up that, were they to actually invest some money, COULD be joined up to create something useful. Meantime I'll continue to use the back streets to ride my bike to work because these are the only places I feel moderately safe in this city.
I'll leave you with this YouTube video, about thirty seconds in is about as far as you'll need to go as far as this post is concerned.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_uW0XnR7QI0
Tuesday, 12 August 2014
It's Millar Time
I've always owned a bike, but I still don't consider my self a "cyclist". I mainly ride a bike to get to work, and use it at weekends and holiday times as a great way of keeping fit without having to put in hours of work in a gym. To be honest I can't think of anything I'd like less in terms of exercise than going to a gym, all that protein and creatine (whatever that is) and whatever other paraphenalia that goes with the territory. No, I chose to face my mid-life crisis by revisiting the humble bicycle.
Now, I've always bought magazines. I've played guitar since I was 14 years old and couldn't read enough about the things so I bought into the whole monthly magazine idea and continued buying and reading until I had a family and found I didn't have the time for idly reading and re-reading this months Guitarist, Guitar, Acoustic Guitar etc, etc ad infinitum...
Naturally therefore I started buying cycling magazines. It wasn't such a bad idea at first, I needed a few pointers to get me on my way, but I wasn't about to fall into the Cycling Porn+ / Comic trap though. I very quickly realised that a whole wing of the publishing industry existed to feed the MAMIL in me with a diet of sportives, fitness, and lots and lots of...stuff to spend your disposable income on. One thing I did notice however were the still frequent mentions, often in almost revered tones, of Robert Millar. I now know what an understatement that last sentence was. I've never raced bikes, ever, but I felt compelled to go and find out a little bit more about this name that I remember from back in the day. While I was off touring in an 80's pop/ rock band, Robert Millar was performing feats of unbelievable athleticism in the French mountains, hell he even sported a pop stars' hairdo! I remember seeing the odd snippet of TdF coverage on World of Sport or whatever the Saturday afternoon sports show was called back in the Eddy Merckx era, but Robert Millar was nothing more than an interesting footnote whenever I saw television news, and let's face it pro bike racing until only recently has always been that way in the football obsessed UK.
I watched some footage of Robert Millar in the 1983 Tour de France leaving Jiminez in his wake on the Peyresourde on the way to his first stage win, and was completely filled with the emotions and feeling I normally associate with hearing a piece of music that moves me. Thus enthused I then read Richard Moore's book In Search Of Robert Millar and became enthralled (and not a little obsessed for a while) with the Robert Millar story, going out on the bike and visiting local places mentioned in the book, riding the same roads Millar trained on...yes total nutjob stuff.
Some mornings I used to sit in the Strathbungo cafe called Cookie gazing out across Nithsdale Rd trying to get my head around the astonishing - to me - fact that the person who achieved this amazing feat of althleticism in the Tour de France lived right across the road in 73 Nithsdale Drive. Hell I even tried to get the then owner, himself a bicycle enthusiast, to invite Richard Moore to do a book reading/ Q&A one evening. How appropriate I thought to have an event such as that right across the road from the Millar family home. Unfortunately it didn't get past the "oh that's a great idea" stage so for a while all thoughts of a Robert Millar tribute were put on the back burner.
So where is this going you ask? Simply this, there are little blue plaques dotted all around our city celebrating the famous former occupants of residences such as Charles Rennie Mackintosh or Alexander "Greek" Thomson, but interestingly, in this supposed second golden age of cycling, there is nothing to celebrate the brilliance of until recently our highest placed finisher in the Tour de France and perhaps more significantly to the cognoscenti, the first and so far only UK winner of the King of the Mountains polka dot jersey, maillot a pois rouge. I am certain that in any other European country Robert Millar would be a proper hero and celebrated in his home town, not so here in cycling friendly Glasgow.
And so the bottom line is this; I would like to see Glasgow City Council acknowledge this true cycling great, still a legend among road cyclists all around the world, by erecting a small blue (or pois rouges) plaque to our very own King of the Mountains outside 73 Nithsdale Drive, hell I'd even be happy for them to pay for it out of the cycling budget!
73 Nithsdale Drive on an autumnal August afternoon, sans KOM acknowledgement!
Now, I've always bought magazines. I've played guitar since I was 14 years old and couldn't read enough about the things so I bought into the whole monthly magazine idea and continued buying and reading until I had a family and found I didn't have the time for idly reading and re-reading this months Guitarist, Guitar, Acoustic Guitar etc, etc ad infinitum...
Naturally therefore I started buying cycling magazines. It wasn't such a bad idea at first, I needed a few pointers to get me on my way, but I wasn't about to fall into the Cycling Porn+ / Comic trap though. I very quickly realised that a whole wing of the publishing industry existed to feed the MAMIL in me with a diet of sportives, fitness, and lots and lots of...stuff to spend your disposable income on. One thing I did notice however were the still frequent mentions, often in almost revered tones, of Robert Millar. I now know what an understatement that last sentence was. I've never raced bikes, ever, but I felt compelled to go and find out a little bit more about this name that I remember from back in the day. While I was off touring in an 80's pop/ rock band, Robert Millar was performing feats of unbelievable athleticism in the French mountains, hell he even sported a pop stars' hairdo! I remember seeing the odd snippet of TdF coverage on World of Sport or whatever the Saturday afternoon sports show was called back in the Eddy Merckx era, but Robert Millar was nothing more than an interesting footnote whenever I saw television news, and let's face it pro bike racing until only recently has always been that way in the football obsessed UK.
Some mornings I used to sit in the Strathbungo cafe called Cookie gazing out across Nithsdale Rd trying to get my head around the astonishing - to me - fact that the person who achieved this amazing feat of althleticism in the Tour de France lived right across the road in 73 Nithsdale Drive. Hell I even tried to get the then owner, himself a bicycle enthusiast, to invite Richard Moore to do a book reading/ Q&A one evening. How appropriate I thought to have an event such as that right across the road from the Millar family home. Unfortunately it didn't get past the "oh that's a great idea" stage so for a while all thoughts of a Robert Millar tribute were put on the back burner.
So where is this going you ask? Simply this, there are little blue plaques dotted all around our city celebrating the famous former occupants of residences such as Charles Rennie Mackintosh or Alexander "Greek" Thomson, but interestingly, in this supposed second golden age of cycling, there is nothing to celebrate the brilliance of until recently our highest placed finisher in the Tour de France and perhaps more significantly to the cognoscenti, the first and so far only UK winner of the King of the Mountains polka dot jersey, maillot a pois rouge. I am certain that in any other European country Robert Millar would be a proper hero and celebrated in his home town, not so here in cycling friendly Glasgow.
And so the bottom line is this; I would like to see Glasgow City Council acknowledge this true cycling great, still a legend among road cyclists all around the world, by erecting a small blue (or pois rouges) plaque to our very own King of the Mountains outside 73 Nithsdale Drive, hell I'd even be happy for them to pay for it out of the cycling budget!
73 Nithsdale Drive on an autumnal August afternoon, sans KOM acknowledgement!
Monday, 10 March 2014
Time Marches On
So it was a bit overcast but miraculously it was DRY this
morning when I set out for a leisurely spin around and about by bike. There was
no plan, no route, no miles target set, just a sociable ride around the
southside of Glasgow. What transpired was a really interesting morning out
which was at once pleasing (being on my bike) and yet rather depressing
although probably not entirely for the reasons a reader may expect of me.
Heading down Pollokshaws Road towards town I decided to cut
off at Strathbungo at Nithsdale Road and headed down through Pollokshields, a
route I’ve travelled many times over the last few years I’ve been bike
commuting. Today though was different in the sense that I wasn’t heading for
work so I just took it easy and enjoyed the experience, unlike a commute where
even on these quiet back streets and side roads you still need to be vigilant
for motorised traffic. Being Sunday there was very little in the way of traffic
and for the first time I really paid attention to the sheer width of the
streets through which I was passing. There is a lot of talk about “Dutch-style”
bicycle infrastructure and how it could be implemented here but “issues” like
space for lanes and parking prevent it happening. Yet look at this road, this
is the west end of Maxwell Drive; when I looked at the amount of space I
figured that surely this is an absolute no-brainer for a segregated bike route.
There is ample room for a lane of traffic in each direction,
a lane of parking and bi-directional bike lanes. The road was recently
re-surfaced – not before time I might add – and is sitting there like a blank
canvas waiting to be worked on.
Unfortunately I suspect the road will be
treated as exactly that by the city council, with applications of paints no
doubt in the pipeline. The road previously had “cycle lanes” painted on with
green paint that had been worn away and the “path” itself rutted and pot-holed,
presumably not by the volume or weight of bikes going over it.
After navigating the mess that is Govan Road/ Pacific Drive
caused by the Fastlink project, I decided to check out the path
along the Clyde walkway heading into the city centre. There is a lot of work
ongoing in this area and it’s still not clear to me if there will be a
permeable cycle route from the Clyde Arc bridge into town. At the moment there
is a path that is shared use, which afforded me an easy run under the Kingston
Bridge straight into town right up to the point behind the casino where you
either dismount and carry your bike up stairs or push up the narrow path with
its 90 degree turns that are a pain in the backside to navigate.
It did occur to me to cross the new(ish) Millenium
footbridge to search for permeability there. I needn’t have bothered. Traffic
flows in three hostile lanes heading into the city centre and the one side
street escape route is blocked by what looks like fairly long term road works
Yes, it is completely empty on Sunday morning, but imagine
how it looks at 8:30 on a weekday morning. Now looking towards city centre, it
looks promising but at the very and there is no choice but to join the main
carriageway into town or straight ahead to turn into the A77 going out of town.
Big wide paths like this a great for cycling on, but getting
onto it coming from the south is a nightmare in the morning, requiring nerves
of steel. I’ve done it once and decided never to repeat the experience. There
may be a light at the end of this particular tunnel though. Lurking in the list
of projects on the Glasgow City Council website is a drawing of a proposed
segregated cycle route that makes up the Tradeston route from Shields Road in
Pollokshields all the way through to the Millenium footbridge. To me this
another no-brainer, but it’s more than just a bike route, this would be a great
opportunity to improve cyclist/ motorist relations by demonstrating how easy it
would be for all these road users to get on given the right infrastructure.
We’ve got a long, long way to go to make
up the 41 years of non-investment in non-motorised transport that is the
differential between the UK and the Netherlands.
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