The ride from Calais to Dutchland turned out to be much easier than I’d thought. Reading a map on a motorbike can be tricky (it keeps blowing into your face and making you crash) so I’d made a list of key junctions and stopped every so often to memorise the next 3 or 4 turnings. I made a couple of minor slips, but quickly realised when I was going the wrong way and overall made pretty good time.
Ivo had warned me that he would be at work until early evening and had given me directions to his place of employment. I managed to find the right street pretty easily, but his actual building was in hiding so I had to ring him to come and bring me in.
Ivo’s workplacce is fantastic – they have an outdoor area with grass, mud and all sorts of things made out of bits of rough wood and nails that children love but would be banned in England. I asked him if they ever had any accidents. Lots, he assured me. What did the parents make of this? I enquired. They take them to hospital and get them mended he replied. And how much do they sue you for? They don’t – Dutch children are allowed to have accidents as they experiment, without it being anyone’s fault or anyone wanting to make money out of it – weird!! It’ll never catch on in England (more’s the pity).
I got directions to an underground car park near Ivo’s flat and rode off, leaving him to tidy up and ride his amazing Dutch single-speed, sit-up-and-beg bike the 5 miles back. I got slightly confused by the roads having junctions and things, and he beat me to the car-park (what they say about BMW bikes being slow must be true).
I took the bike down into the underground park and found that the sensors didn’t recognise it and the barrier stoutly did it’s job and repelled the English invader. Undeterred, I squeezed past the end of the barrier and parked up – I’d sort out how to pay and all that nastiness later – right now I could hear the calling of Dutch beer!
Ivo’s flat turned out to be quite amazing. It’s right in the roof above a shop and has the world’s steepest staircase going up to it. I expressed my fears as to how we would cope after we’d sample a few of the local brews, but Ivo assured me that he’d never killed himself by falling down them yet in spite of coming home on his hands and knees more than once.
Not wishing to work myself into a state worrying about the matter, I got changed quickly and we (rather nimbly if I do say so myself) nipped back down the stairs and out onto the streets of Amersfoort, looking for adventure (well, a halfway decent pizza and a couple of pints anyway). tbc….
