P&O away days
The weekend was spent in a stroopwaffel fuelled fight with Flandrian crosswinds and playing around on the ferries of Northern Europe. Something about coastlines has always interested me, the fragile frontier between untameable seas and cultivated land. The associated infrastructure is equally fascinating; the immense scale of sea defence and engineered structures used to harness wind and tidal power, the brightly painted navigation buoys whirring and ticking in sporadic gusts, cranes and shipping containers slowly rusting into the sand. The bike paths of Zeeland and South-Holland weave their way along this thin line between desolate agricultural plain and rippling dunes of sand, knitting together small settlements of narrow brick terraces that offer cosy ‘rest-bite’ from the howling winds.
I jumped on a train to Dover on Friday night, from there a ferry followed by late night pedal from Calais to make it to Brugge for first light. After offsetting the lack of sleep with ample coffee at the famous clocktower I followed canal paths north to the Scheldt estuary for a double baguette lunch in the medieval settings of Middelburg. A tailwind proved fruitful and good progress was made northwards. I’d packed bivvy kit but after consulting the weather sites, closely followed by booking.com I ditched the cold night in the sand in favour of a 22-bed dorm in the local party hostel; jury still out on that decision. An old friend had seen strava activity close by so joined for breakfast and a quick catch-up spin (the pros of our connected world!). After he peeled away it was onwards to Amsterdam, not that I spent any time sightseeing given stopping for more than a minute brought on uncontrollable shivers, but every route plan needs a destination and I guess a country capital is as good a place as any. The way back was more bike wrestling than riding, with the fear of being blown into nearby canals ever-present I unclipped and pushed on several occasions. Eventually the winds subsided into flash flooding and a lack of water-proofs lead to my booking print-out, phone, passport and resolve being severely water damaged. Luckily the ferry crew at Hoek van Holland took pity on me and allowed early boarding. I thawed out in the cabin shower, sipped a Heineken on deck and was suddenly overcome with the drowsiness of satisfaction. An early train from Harwich took me into work with just enough time spare to change into more professional attire and drain the office coffee machine. No one was anymore the wiser until Dad rang the office to see if I’d survived the gale force 9 crossing.
