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Wednesday, June 19th - Amsterdam to Houten, 5287 km
I am excited that my cycling trip will begin again today. I have a few duties to complete before I leave. Marc is up earlier this morning and does not have to go out until noon, so I will have time to say my goodbyes before I leave as I expect to be
back before then.In my first block out the door I am stopped on a bridge by a lost Canadian cyclist, named Tom Naas, who needs directions to Central Station. His I lead him there. On the way, I take him through the flower market on the Damrak, to the post office (there are no more letters waiting for me at Poste Restante), down Regulierdwarstaat
where I point out a coffee shop that sells dope (the gay one, of course), to a map store where I stop to by maps for my route to Utrecht, to a book store where I buy two books of poetry, and at last to Rembrantsplein. We exchange names and he says he will leave me a note in 
either Luxembourg or Berlin. There's a chance we will cycle together later in the trip as we are both cycling alone now. Marc is out when I return at 1, later than expected. I pack, clean up my sleeping area and write him a goodbye note expressing my regrets for having missed him. I load up my bike and lock the door behind me. As I move my bike to the edge of the
street the skies open up in a heavy shower. I am soaked in the first four blocks. A passing car hits a puddle nestled in a tram track depression in the pavement and I become the reluctant recipient of its entire contents. Some would say this is an omen, like every other 
bad thing that has happened so far on this trip, but why should I start listening to omens at this late stage of the trip. Perhaps it is just a warning of a difficult day ahead. I have met Dini and Wim van Veen two years ago when I was dating Seph, their cousin. They had just moved to Ontario and two years of trying to get over the Immigration Canada hurdles. Wim and their son Denis loved Canada but Dini and their daughter Merete hated it. It was a difficult situation but eventually they returned. I could tell on the phone that Dini didn't exactly remember me, but I have no doubt she will when I arrive.
Houten, the village where they live, is a modern bedroom community on the far side of Utrecht, which is about 55 km from Amsterdam. Bicycle traffic is channeled onto bike paths which usually have directional signs but they snake all over the terrain. Distance markers reflect what it true for the nearby roads, which are much more direct. One marker says 33 km to Utrecht but it takes 55 km to arrive in the city.
Utrecht is an old Flemish city, dominated by the Dom, a cathedral that rises above the old city. Traffic is congested going through the city but I didn’t want to missing seeing it. There is a maze of intersecting bike trails around Houten, weaving around
everywhere, but no directional signs. I get hopelessly lost. I stop another cyclist, a middle-aged woman, and ask her how to get to where I want to go and why there are no signs. 'You would know the way if you lived here,' was her reply. Great answer, and a great reason for getting rid of all directional signs everywhere. That would certainly limit those annoying questions by discouraging anyone from leaving their immediate neighbourhoods. I am quite wet and cold but the time I find their home, as it has rained three times since I have left Marc's. The only one home is Denis. He does a good job making sure I get comfortable, making me coffee, showing me the shower, giving me a towel and lending me a dry sweatshirt once I am clean. I am quick to praise him and later his parents.
I had forgotten Dini and Wim's faces, and I am sure they have forgotten mine, but they are immediately familiar when I see them again. Wim has a soft, round, warm, open face like a friendly, happy bear and a disposition to match. Dini's stylish looks are somewhat diminished by her stern, rigid disposition. She asks what we should have for dinner, as though it is a rhetorical question, and then announces with contrived 'inspiration', "I know, let's have CHIPS!" Dini produces a huge bowl of French fries, and that is what dinner consists of, plus a couple Dutch 'hot dogs' made of lard and meat by-products. It is shocking to think that this meal might be a regular part of their diet. She keeps insisting I have more, but my stomach wants to argue with her.
After dinner, Dini and Wim drive me around to see the sights of Houten, which consist of a cheese factory. They kindly purchase a large block of cheese for me, which is touching. Hopefully, I can eat it all before it spoils on me as the weather is warming up. When the kids have gone to bed we sit and chat about Canada. Wim still wants to return as it has always been a dream of his. Dini is still set against it. They ask me directly which of them is right. I answer diplomatically that it is a very difficult situation for them that can only be resolved with love and respect for each other. My answer seems to touch both of them. Dini, who insisted that I could only stay one night, now wants me to stay longer, but I have made arrangements with another Gai Pied ad responder to stay with him in Antwerp tomorrow night and so I must leave.
PHOTO 1: outside of Amsterdam
PHOTO 2: near Utrecht
PHOTO 3: Utrecht
PHOTO 4: the Dom in Utrecht
PHOTO 5: the belfry of the Dom
PHOTO 6: in Utrecht
PHOTO 7: bike path in Houten
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