On to Amsterdam

It was time to wheel my way westward to...Amsterdam! The amazing part is that I followed tree-lined, dedicated bike paths all the way into the heart of the city. Try that in New York or Chicago.

You see these things here, once in a while. The sign between the double speed-limit signs is especially informative: De Molen. "The windmill." First word pronounced Duh.
 

Farther along, I realize how similar summer in the Netherlands can be to Florida. This scene could be along any Gulf Coast estuary. The elements are similar after all: shallow water, sandy soil. The resemblance can be so remarkable that I am a bit surprised that they don't make me homesick for Florida. Not now, anyway--let's see how that goes next winter.
 

I had my first bike crash somewhere in the Oud-Zuid, just south of the Vondelpark. Turned a sandy corner, went down. I've learned a long time ago to sacrifice the bike and spare the knees and elbows and head. I'll have to replace the left pedal, but all told it wasn't too bad. At worst I could have rolled the bike thirty minutes to the nearest train station.

So while I chewed lunch at the Museumplein I got out pliers, straighted out the fenders, reset the bent pedal, and tightened a couple of loose cables. So it's a pretty tough bike. And I've promised myself that I wouldn't do the picture postcard thing with this blog--the temptation in Amsterdam is of course great--but here I'm going to allow myself just two. When I consumed my the rest of my sandwich and Spa Blauw, the Concertgebouw (yes, that Concertgebouw) stood to the left of my park bench...
 

...while the Rijksmuseum stood to my right. Not bad.
 

On that park bench I finished a book, watched a couple of birds, availed myself of the half-euro openbare toiletten, and started back to Bussum.

Generally, bicycles have right-of-way over everything, but I've learned that there is one exception--boats passing drawbridges. On a Sunday afternoon they can be expected to swarm on both sides of a key bridge like this one halfway home, on the central canal in the village of Weesp. Bicyclists, accustomed to dominion over the quick and the dead, wait but are not amused.
 

Perhaps you'll think I don't make much of this day. "What did you do yesterday, Eric?" "Oh, I got bored and just biked over to Amsterdam." But at this point in my life I seem to be immune to surprise. Yes, it was great to bike into Amsterdam, but if it's been there for hundreds of years, it will be there next weekend and the next, and if it rains there's a train every 30 minutes, costing only loose change. It's amazingly easy for all this to become mere background.

And then at home I put the bike away and open the window, and there's a hot air balloon glowing in the setting sun. Just when I begin to be inured, this goes and happens. This is such a peaceful place. Damn. I really do like it.