Distance: 7.19 miles

Time: 1:11:20

Average Speed: 6.0 mph

Elevation Gain: 69 feet

To paraphrase the Beautiful South, it could be Rotterdam or anywhere, and for most of my route, I assumed it would be Rotterdam ferry terminal at which I’d finish my ride, but on getting the tram into Amsterdam, for a wander around, last night, it felt like this was where my route would finish. It could be Rotterdam or anywhere, but actually, it had to be Amsterdam. Copenhagen – Amsterdam, great capital cities of bikes, canals, culture, and gateways to the world.

Besides, Amsterdam was a ferry port from which I could take a ferry back to the UK, I just wasn’t, because of the additional cost. To all intents and purposes, my cycle would end in Amsterdam.

But there was the small matter of completing an international parkrun to contend with, and for that, there was only one contender. Zuiderpark parkrun in Den Haag – very popular with those chasing a parkrun ‘alphabet’. So, I was heading for the train.

It was a cold wet day on the campsite, I was hopeful that the rain might stop before I packed up my things, eventually giving in just in time for the campsite’s 2 o’clock check out time, then setting off in the direction of the Van Gogh museum.

Having gone to the trouble of locking up my bike, removing my sodden waterproofs and swapping my socks and shoes, I made to queue up outside, only to find that the Gallery was sold out for the day. I wasn’t too disappointed as I’d been before, so continued on my way to the station, passing Anne Frank’s house – the exterior now invisible because of a new museum facade built around it in 2018 – and Mannekin Pis for, allegedly, the ‘No.1 Holland Fries’, en route.

It was still raining when I arrived in The Hague, exiting the station and heading across town to the hotel, finding the typical maze of cycle paths, I tried not to block the way whenever I stopped to get my bearings – not something I have to worry about when using cycle paths back home.

I was staying at the Hoevevoorde Hotel, a bit out of town, but only 1 mile from the start of the Zuiderpark parkrun. Hopefully, I could make that distance by 9 o’clock the next morning.

Cycling over, it was easy to find the start area, close to a large sports centre. The course itself was an extremely flat and almost round two loop course, it would have been a perfect course for a parkrun personal best, had it not been for the almost 600 miles of cycling my legs had endured during the past two weeks.

As it was, I set off near the front of the 125 runners, setting a pace that felt tough but sustainable, before picking it up a little on the second lap and finishing in 20:54, in 16th place. I was very satisfied with that and glad to have finally ticked off my first international parkrun!

Afterwards, I chatted to a local man, Michel, who had just run his first parkrun, achieving 20:09, which he was very happy with, and another, Rob, from Clapham who was a serial parkrunner, and had just finished cycling from the Netherlands to Czechia the week before. It had been his first tour, but he had been with his partner – from The Netherlands – who he had met whilst he was working at a hostel near Loch Ness and she was cycling the, 7000 km, North Sea cycle route. A route she was still to finish.

Having checked out of my hotel, I visited the Mauritshuis museum in town, which contained fine works by a long list of Dutch masters including: Rembrandt, Rubens, Anthony van Dyck and, famously, Johannes Vermeer.

After that, I was back on the bike, and left with twenty miles or so to reach my final destination, the Rotterdam ferry terminal, where I hoped to catch the overnight boat to Hull from where it would be a few short train journeys home.

Dawdling through Delft, where its 1679 windmill was in operation as I passed, I was soon counting the minutes as I realised that there was another ferry standing in my way, between Maassluis and Rozenburg, on the way to the port.

Now needing to push on to make it to port with the allotted 1.5 hours before the crossing, it was one last 12 km time trial to go, before arriving to join the back of a long queue of cars and campervans waiting to board. There had probably been less of a rush than I’d thought.

Finally through passport control, all that was left was for me to board the ship, up on deck 7, and necessitating an 11 % gradient ramp, an actual climb, and the first time on the entire trip that I’d needed to change down to my smallest chainring.

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.