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Utrecht to Arnhem – Pancakes! Parks! Attempts?

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Inside of Princenhoff, Pancake House and restaurant.

Inside of Princenhof, Pancake House and restaurant.

 

The second day of our cycle tour of the Netherlands, Rachel and I awoke early, but not early enough to see our host from Couchsurfing, scoot off to work. We were awoken by his furry friend, a forward feline named chip. We too scooted off, out of Utrecht, stopping at Princenhof for some Pannenkoekens and beer before heading out along the bikepath towards Arnhem. The trip had kicked Rachel’s ass yesterday. As previously mentioned, she had never cycled before and so the 60km, supposed piece of cake trek from Amsterdam to Utrecht, was more like a piece of metal shrapnel lodged into her legs, than delicious cake lodged in her mouth.

Princehof's famous chef

Princehof’s famous chef

The day’s ride took us through beautiful forest and countryside. Passed ba’ing sheep and woofing dogs and naying horses. Many people were out and about on their bikes, from very old to toddlers perched in makeshift baskets. Quite heartwarming to see a society promote the bicycle, as Netherlands tends to do. Needless to say, after another long day, Rachel’s legs were aching and so we decided to stop in Ede, a town I had been to before, on a previous bike trip through this region. Not much to this town, so we interneted it up at a Mcdonalds and found a good deal at a nice hotel, the Reehorst, to refuel for the next day, where we would cycle to Arnhem and on our way check on the Netherlands elusive desert.

For some reason, from this day, all I have is photos of Princenhof.

For some reason, from this day, all I have is photos of Princenhof.

Details of Princehof.

Details of Princehof.

More details of Princenhof.

More details of Princenhof.

Check out the accompanying video:

More info on this leg of the trip:

Pannenkoekenhuis Princenhof

Address: Hoofdstraat 1, 3971 KA Driebergen-Rijsenburg, Netherlands
Hotel Reehorst
Address: Bennekomseweg 24, 6717 Ede, Netherlands

Wikipedia:

Rhijnauwen is a castle, former heerlijkheid (fiefdom), and former municipality in the Dutch province of Utrecht. It was located northwest of the village of Bunnik.

The municipality of Rhijnauwen consisted of Nieuw- and Oud-Amelisweerd (red and orange), and the original heerlijkheid Rhijnauwen (yellow). Shown here on a map of the municipality Bunnik in 1868.[1]

The municipality existed from 1818 to 1857, when it was merged with Bunnik.[2] It consisted of the former heerlijkheden Amelisweerd and Rhijnauwen.[3] Around 1850, it had 50 inhabitants.

The name is still used to denote the small forest that separates Bunnik and Utrecht.
The name is probably derived from Rhijnauwen Auen, an old word for the wet meadows along the Rhine. The estate is probably from the 13th century. The first mention of the manor Rhijnauwen dates back to 1212. The House was in the first half of the 14th century it belonged to the genus of Lichtenberg. This family was one of the most powerful families of Utrecht and had also Lichtenberg House, which was located in a place now part of the town hall in Utrecht. Rhijnauwen was officially recognized in 1536 as a manor. After the marriage of John IV of Lichtenberg Aleid Renesse came from the farmhouse in the hands of the family Van Zeeland Renesse. In 1449, the brothers Frederick and John Renesse Rudolf after the victory of Deep Holt Zweder banned from Culemborg, and in 1450 the house was on fire Rhijnauwen commissioned by the city of Utrecht. After the house has exchanged owners several times. The last private owner of the house was the family Rhijnauwen Strick van Linschoten Rhijnauwen bought in 1773. In 1919 the estate was bought by the city of Utrecht. The then owner, the Dowager Strick van Linschoten should stay there until the end of her life. On April 1, 1933 was leased to the hostel Rhijnauwen Foundation, which gave the building its current destination.

 

 

 

Fucking Up – The Fast Track to Learning Your Bicycle

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In 2010 I went on my first tour without an iota of bike fixing no how. Basically my understanding of bicycles was, you pedal, they move forward, you brake, they usually stop. I left home with a single multi tool that I had never used before, a set of allen keys and a portable plastic pump. I don’t even think I brought extra tube with me. I am sure I didn’t have any extra spokes. This would all seem like red alerts for future me of a bad situation festering and plotting, but past me, was oblivious to bike failure or it’s maintenance to avoid it.

And nature and the odds pitied me all the way to California. I had travelled hundreds of miles down the coast without a single issue with my bicycle. I had picked up the concept of bike chain lubing somewhere on the side of the road in Washington, so even the sound of my used jalopy was pristine. Nothing was out of line, the wheel was straight, and the brakes weren’t rubbing. From a current perspective, this possibly was the all too calmness before the storm, the sitting in your home, asleep, unaware that the heavens were black and swelling with conspiratorial storms in the works.

 

oooooooooooh, Klamath, California.

oooooooooooh, Klamath, California.

Then, in Klamath, California, under the awning of ancient, thick sequoia trees, the timer stopped unexpectantly. I was staying at a motel across from the large statue of Paul Bunyan and his Blue Bull that stood in the parking lot of the Trees of Mysteries, part theme park, part museum, part schlocky tourist trap. The motel had a restaurant attached to it. I was sole patron, made to look even more depressing, as I was drinking beer, with the accompanying meal being the sampler appetizers combo, which consisted of a lot of yellow fried things that are usually shared between 12 likeminded, intoxicated individuals.  Blech times 12. The taxidermy duck legs that hung down from the faux water ceiling and the stuffed bear at the entrance, which were features highlighted by dead fly filled florescents, encouraged me to pay my bill and seek food elsewhere. Back in my room I removed my panniers from my bike, Klalita, and rode towards the “town” nearby, which reportedly had a general store or mercantile of sorts. What I had forgotten to remove were the bungee chords that I used to secure my tent to my rack. They went unnoticed for about a kilometer in and a half, when all of a sudden, around 6:30pm or so, one of them twisted around the back cassette, tearing my chain in half.

 

An amazing meal...

An amazing meal…

“My trip is over…”

 

This was my first thought. As I carried my bicycle back from whence I came, I attempted to work out where I could catch a bus, with all my gear and bike, back to Canada. This minor atrocity, at the time, seemed like the destruction of my entire world. Yet, as I entered my room, staring at myself in the bathroom mirror, as I washed my hands off of bike grease, I realized that while it seemed as if I was in the middle of nowhere, I really wasn’t. I was in the US of A, which had a plethora of amenities that could salvage my bicycle and the trip it was on. I had passed MANY bike shops and cyclists, so finding one of those was an option. But then I remembered….I HAVE TOOLS! I have no idea what they do or if they can help me, but it was a worth a shot trying to figure them out.

 

Amidst the repairs

Amidst the repairs

With a slow internet connection, I typed my bike issue into the Youtube search menu. 85 million results. 84 million of them were tutorials on how to fix a chain. I set to work, following the step by step guide. Though it took several hours for a job that would now take me ten to twenty minutes, the exhilaration of fixing my own bike was worth the struggle. I had discovered a new desire to know everything about bicycles, to be as self sufficient as possible on future tours, that I now knew I wanted to have.

 

The view from across the hotel -Klamath, California.

The view from across the hotel -Klamath, California.

The safety net of being in a country with a plethora of resources for cycle tourists and travelers of all levels made it an ideal first country to tour in and more importantly, make mistakes in. I recently saw on a forum a cyclist lambasting people for touring without knowing your bicycle inside and out. While I think, if I were to do this trip over again, I would have learned a few more key skills in regards to bike fixing, but I would also say that nothing really prepares you for fuck ups. And fuck ups themselves are great teachers, as well as put you in contact with great people, opening lovely dialogues about bicycles and beyond. I think it’s unfair to say YOU MUST KNOW EVERYTHING TO BICYCLE TOUR. That is elitism at it’s finest. I think a working knowledge of things can avoid problems down the line, but I also think that I would rather people get on their bicycles, then not get on their bicycles, because they feel they are not part of the “club”, own a crazy amount of lycra or are dissuaded to tour, because of their lack of bike know-how. I know several non-cyclist cycle tourers who know enough about bikes. The rest, they fill in along the way. And sometimes you just need to improvise. In the end, it will all work out and you’ll feel the exhilaration of coming to a solution, whether it is the tried and true way, or the wonderfully creative and makeshift approach.

She Will Be Mine, Oh Yes, She Will be Mine – My Travel Bucket List Part 1

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The final resting place of many Orange/Nassau Royals in the New Church of Delft.

The final resting place of many Orange/Nassau Royals in the New Church of Delft.

 

If you didn’t get the Wayne’s World reference from the title don’t feel too bad (you should still see if it you would like to see a mocking satire of Middle America in the Early 90s or just want a silly laugh). The sentiment is, rather than wishing my travels to come to fruition, is see them as a very deliberate and calculated plan of my life choice. Wanderlust, isn’t lustful in that it is unattainable, it is so because it is unquenchable. Whether these places come into play on this World Tour or my next or next transcontinental excursion doesn’t matter, because for me, they are eminent either tomorrow or the near future. For me, the near future is in the context of the greater scheme of this universe, so 20 or 30 years, compared to millions, is blip, so small it is unavailable to the human eye. Wow. Deep intro mannnnnn. Without further adieu, in no order my travel bucket list at this second. Just to let you know, the pictures are simply things to look at from my past travels, not actual representations of the places on my list.

 

 

The main square of Delft

The main square of Delft

The Southern States

 

Now, I have been to So Cal, so let me clarify. When you think of Southern America, THAT’S the South that I would like to see. I needn’t say more to aid you in filling in such archetypal blanks. Not only does the South contain a very interesting history, seem to seethe with unpretentious swagger and have the coolest accents in North America, asides from Newfoundlanders, they also have a culture, that that contains many mouth watering, barbequey components. To be blunt, a trip down South for me, would be a 24 hour “stuff my face with all the food I see” kind of trip. Oh yeah, Graceland….BUT FOOD, OY VEY, FOOD. I wouldn’t expect leaving there without uncontrollable meat sweats and at least an appreciation for radio stations that do NOT play Kenny Chesney.

 

Delft

Delft

Italy – All of It

 

Continuing the theme of food, Italy has been on my radar for a long time. In fact, my first solo European bike trip was supposed to be through Italy. In a crumpled, well loved Michelin Map Book, I have outlined a route that would take me somewhere between 5 months to ten centuries to complete. Every town is dotted and jotted with notes about what to see, what to eat. The notes are additionally highlighted, bolded and underlined to express the importance and dire need to see and eat these places. Each small town has it’s specialty, that’s why it seems so unfair to blanketly describe it as all Italian food. It seems to disregard the intricacies of each region’s own flavor, each one’s own take off or complete abandon of an Italian culinary through line. History is also important to me, especially the detailed specifics about certain famous or infamous characters of the past. The histories written by Plutarch and Herodotus are rife with gossip, hearsay and blatant fabrications, but the stages for all these described events, still exists to be explored.  Italian pride in it’s glorious past has left much of it intact and yet I always have this fear that I have to see it sooner than later, before a natural disaster or violent upheaval takes them from us. I was in Rome for a month and I still feel like I didn’t see enough. I felt I merely glanced upon the surface without fully diving in. I think I would require forever times two to fully get the all-encompassing Italian experience.

 

The Old Church, Delft.

The Old Church, Delft.

Iran

 

If having some of the oldest and grandest cities in the world and being the cradle of one of history’s most powerful empires doesn’t spark any interest in you, then we probably wouldn’t make good travel buddies. Ancient civilizations fascinate me, in part due to their epic mythos, but also that their legacy is still prominent, echoed in large scale building projects that have stood the test of time and now act as story tellers for new generations who visit them. The centre of this world was Persepolis, where the seat of Darius the Great once sat, only to be topped by another great, a curly haired Macedonian, named Alexander. Iran is the classic new meets old, as a modern version of itself struggles against it’s ancient stereotype to be global relevant, as well as accepted. Iran is North Americancentrically portrayed as a bad guy and a generic one at that, similar to the Russian bond villains. This is also why I am interested in visit Iran and many other countries that are unfairly categorized as such. Because I am told not to go and when I ask them “why?”, the usual response is, because “they say it’s dangerous”. Who are these “they” that I am trusting? What’s at stake for them to keep me in line as such. Selfishly, I feel as it is a minor act of rebellion to do so. Or at least, that is how it could be perceived. Simple and plain, I don’t buy into the hype, unless I hear of it first hand.

Again, I will be posting my own wishlists throughout this process not to hint at where I’d like the bike trip to proceed to, but simply to spark ideas and create a dialogue between lovers of bikes and far off lands (or not so far off places). What’s on your wishlist? Post it in the forums and/or in a comment below!

Sincerely,

Ira – The Misguided Guide of Each Mile

 

Beautiful stain glass, main church of Gouda.

Beautiful stain glass, main church of Gouda.