Category: cycle-touring

Day 10: Lelystad – Amsterdam

Distance: 35.28 miles

Time: 3:19:00

Average Speed: 10.6 mph

Elevation Gain: 225 feet

Having checked into the campsite, I quickly had a shower and pedalled into town, it was England versus the Netherlands this evening, so I’d find a quiet restaurant that was showing the football and watch on with interest. But Lelystad had other ideas: were there any restaurants, were there any shops, were there any people? It was like a Scottish new town, miles of cycle paths, and nowhere to go.

But then, I squirrelled out a bar, wildly raucous and filled with orange, I steeled myself to take a look inside. The visitor’s welcome was ready in this bustling, metropolis, it was cash only at the bar, and I hadn’t seen an ATM in weeks.

Eventually, I found a centre of sorts, buried deep amongst the apartment blocks and the roundabouts. Finding a spot, the empty beer terrace of the bar across from the – already full – place to be, grateful to be able to see part of the screen through their windows. I adopted my stoniest expression when – as full time beckoned – England scored, did they know I wasn’t English, did they think that I was?

It was another lovely day as I enjoyed the sheltered surroundings of the campsite, preparing the classic Dutch breakfast of Lidl packet noodles, using up my remaining food stores before the last camping night of the trip.

Striking out into the lawless environs of the Lelystad cycle paths, I remembered that there were some rules: mopeds were only allowed to go very fast, but number plated e-bike dirt bike users with passengers and no helmets were allowed to go extremely fast. The rest of the path’s inhabitants seemed to be ambling along on grinding rust-buckets, probably in use daily, and maintained, never.

I pressed on along the canal, before turning onto a long single track road through the fields, it offered a rare opportunity for interaction with motor traffic, causing me to clear off the road when a tractor came along the other way.

Soon I started on the long convoluted route around the houses of Almere – only some with their own jetties – before crossing the large Weerwater lake on a lovely new cycle-friendly bridge.

The bridge was designed using the green principles that the new city held dear, for users to cross under their own steam, to be constructed using recyclable materials, and to interconnect green spaces, promoting health and wellbeing.

Just across the bridge I was excited to see the, solar panel clad, University of Applied Sciences building: an institution focussed on keeping ever-expanding residential areas sustainable. Nearby, even McDonald’s had got in on the act, providing my Stroopwaffel McFlurry in a reusable cup…

The last port of call – as I navigated the complex waterways on my way to the outskirts of the Dutch capital of Amsterdam – was the pretty little town of Muiden, where its ‘Great Sea Lock’ complex, dating back to 1673, connected the river Vecht and the large IJmeer lake. I’d only just crossed the impressive swing bridge when it was pressed into service.

The campsite, further around the edge of the IJmeer, was compact and busy. The large tent camping area was sectioned up into small square pitches, there was a two-tiered facilities block, and, in the tiny kitchen space, 3 kettles. It was, undoubtedly, the busiest campsite I’d seen since T in the Park, 2011.

Day 9: De Krim – Lelystad

Distance: 65.59 miles

Time: 5:38:21

Average Speed: 11.6 mph

Elevation Gain: 201 feet

Sitting eating dinner at a picnic table, outside the barn in the campsite, one of the site’s other inhabitants sat down on a chair behind me – at the doorway to the barn – smoking tobacco, and tried to engage me in conversation, in Dutch. With me having little to offer in that regard, the man seemed to get frustrated and walked off, before returning shortly after to try again.

Eventually, with communication proving problematic, he pointed to the wispy grey clouds overhead and gave his head a little shake, before heading off in the direction of his tent. Wait a minute, what about the clouds?! I found out soon enough.

Two hours later the two of us were cowering in the barn, as a torrential downpour battered off the corrugated roofing, bright flashes of lightning bursting through the skylights.

The man pointed at my watch, wanting to know the time. Flashing the screen in front of him, I could see it read 22:30. A puzzled look came over the man’s face, half twaalf, he said, before quickly correcting himself, half elf, he said with an air of satisfaction. It was my turn to look puzzled, in German elf was 11, surely it would be the same here? A quick Google search furnished me with the surprising conclusion, in Dutch it was half elf, half before 11.

The storm having blown through during the night, the new day brought with it blue skies, and a stiff breeze restored to antagonistic status.

I made the short journey along to the local Co’op to pick up some milk to have with the remains of the granola that I’d been carrying for the last few days, before getting back underway on the silky smooth cycle-path, past the Lutten water tower, and through the trees at Stegeren, before crossing the Vechte river, in Ommen, and turning down the lovely riverside path, past De Konijnenbelt windmill, and beautifully positioned campgrounds – across the river from the town.

With optimism, I left Ommen, hoping to make it the 17 miles to Zwolle, before stopping again. So much for that, when not 4 miles gone by, ominous clouds formed in the sky. The rain came down quickly, and hastened me in, to Herberg De Klomp, in Vilsteren, for lunch on a whim.

Sated by the ham and cheese crepe with sugar syrup on top, I pushed on, making it through Zwolle as quickly as I could, despite the super-complicated cycle network trying to throw me off track: deliberating at the bottom of a bridge, as to whether I was to cycle over the bridge or go through the tunnel – which started alongside – I finally decided on taking the bridge before realising that they both finished at the same spot, anyway.

Once over the Katerveer II bridge, I took the road to Oldebroek, before turning north towards the lovely little town of Elburg, with its moat and city walls dating back to the 13th century.

If I would have been satisfied with 50 miles for the day, I’d surely have turned back to the campsite that I’d just seen outside the town and wandered into one of these bustling bars on these old cobbled streets, but the forecast was rain, and now the sun shone, so I supposed I’d better make hay, before the rain came along.

Luckily, the campsite in Lelystad had had the courtesy to provide the reception opening hours on their website, so I had until 8 o’clock, it was 10 past 6 now, and it was 17 miles to go. A 66 mile day, with a headwind to boot, that would do nicely, and even better, because I’d now be within 40 miles of Amsterdam. I’d have cycled from one great city of bikes, to another.

Day 8: Thülsfelde – De Krim

Distance: 69.1

Time: 5:20

Average Speed: 13 mph

Elevation Gain: 303 feet

‘Morgen’, I’d responded as I passed the couple’s tent, or had it been ‘morning’? And had they said ‘morgen’ or had they said ‘moin’, apparently the popular guten morgen contraction in northern Germany, used at any time of the day. It was my last morning trying to figure out that little conundrum, as all things being well, tomorrow I’d be in the Netherlands. There was one thing that was certainly well, the wind was coming from the east, for the first time on the whole trip.

After leaving the campsite, I rolled through the trees, passing families struggling to get to grips with their rental bikes, as I went. I was in a positive mindset, it was half past 10 in the morning, the forecast was for sunshine all day, and from time to time there might be a little breeze on my tail.

At Neumarkhausen, I went forwards and back trying to locate the tiny lane to Bischofsbrück, before finding it hiding behind a tree. It was a lovely road for cycling, no traffic, sparsely populated with farm buildings, and what was that, an ice cream vending machine in a shed?

After almost 10 miles, I reached the small town of Vrees where I’d intended to stop for breakfast, but with newfound energy saved from not having to battle the elements, I decided to push on to Werlt, 5 miles further on.

Passing my first windmill of the trip, on the way into town, I ended up doing a large loop of the centre, as, having hoped to reach Lidl at one end of town, my progress was barred by substantial roadworks on the high street, and I ended up at Aldi at the other end, instead.

With 15 miles in the bank, it was next stop Meppen, 20 miles away. But, as I was looking forward to reaching another country, it felt like Germany was petering out, most facilities were closed, the cyclists I passed were even more stubbornly ignoring me, and the cycle path had become rutted and strewn with grit and stones.

The roads being quiet, I took a turn on those for a while, until, on the final stretch into Meppen, a line of trucks – being held up by a tractor – was coming the other way. The lorry drivers knew where best to vent their frustration, the lone cyclist was their problem, angrily gesticulating at me to get off the road.

The Netherlands couldn’t come soon enough, was my less than generous response, but I soon paused for thought on reaching the pleasant town of Meppen, stopping for a late lunch, on a riverside terrace, before pushing on for the last few miles to the border.

Having reached the Netherlands, it was job done for the day, it was now about gaining an extra few miles while the going was good. It had been a perfect cycling day, 28°C, and that elusive tailwind.

Instantly, the Netherlands felt a little different, more peaceful, some agricultural land traded for animals in the fields, a two-way superhighway of a bike lane, and a few cyclists even said ‘hoi’.

Next stop was Coevorden, notable because its layout was based on the ‘ideal city’ plan, of a star fort with radial streets – such as Palmanova in Italy – and also because the family name of Van Coevorden furnished the City of Vancouver with its name, which I’ll admit, is not something I knew when I cycled through there.

I carried on for another 5 miles along the canal, to the sprawling village of De Krim, knowing there to be a small campsite, both very close to the route, and also, after – very nearly – 70 miles, which would be a very satisfactory figure for the day.

On reaching, ‘Camping de Boergondier’, it was only quarter past 6, but still too late for reception, we’re just preparing dinner, said the lady on the phone, but just set up, and I’ll be out to see you later.

Day 7: Bremen – Thülsfelde

Distance: 48.56 miles

Time: 4:12:09

Average Speed: 11.6 mph

Elevation Gain: 526 feet

I retraced my steps back along the mono-blocked cycle path from the night before, rounding the medieval moat, and making a beeline straight for the centre of the old town at the historic Marktplatz, framed by the 11th century St Peter’s Cathedral, and the 900 year old City Hall – complete with a statue to the Brothers Grimm’s ‘Town Musicians of Bremen’, at the front.

Although it was already after 1 PM, I needed to make an early stop, my power bank had been charging for most of the previous evening, but when I’d plugged my phone into it as I set off, it was completely flat, and my phone didn’t have enough charge for the day. Luckily there was a branch of the new-age traveller’s number one friend just off the square, and indeed I could charge my phone, watch my bike, and see a bit of the cathedral, as I tucked into my McDonald’s Big Tasty burger. Multi-tasking.

The time trial was already on, it was now quarter to three in the afternoon, and I’d hoped to manage, at least as far as Garrel, 40 miles away, and then find a campsite after that – unfortunately the going out of town was slow and laborious, the cycle lane being a narrow section of pavement, and regularly being interrupted by road crossings, until it was time to cut cross country in the direction of Mittelshuchting.

Back on the straight and narrow of a roadside cycle path, I worked my way along to Delmenhorst, pleased to be keeping my speed up over 11 mph, into the strong gusts.

On entering the pedestrianised centre of the town, I internally debated yet again about whether the sign meant the area was to be bike frei, or whether bikes were frei to use it, I think it means they’re free to use it, which makes little sense to me. Neither did the very rudimentary treadmill halfway down the street.

Powering on into the wind, as best I could, through tiny red brick villages, between fields of crops on tree-lined country lanes, it was all going so well, until I ground to a halt, quite literally, tyre bogged down in an ocean of soft powder-dry sand.

Having raced for half of the afternoon to reach the – seemingly – quite pleasant town of Garrel, I headed straight through and out the other side, heading for a glut of campsites near the vast Thülsfelde reservoir, and hoping that one had a late opening reception.

After the now all too usual, 5 mile sprint on rough tracks through a woodland, I reached the first campsite, Campingplatz Wilken, at 7:02, just as the owner was packing up. It seemed I’d found home for another night.