bikes

Today I fell off my bike. I'm fifty-five years old. The last time I had a bike accident, I was a teenager and I slid on a wet patch of concrete and landed on my head. I was not wearing a helmet. It hurt, but did no lasting damage, although some people may disagree. The accident today hurt a lot more. Cathie and I were riding in the rain between Dusseldorf and Cologne in Germany. We've been cycling across Europe for twenty-one days straight without a rest day. Each of those days we've cycled in perfect weather with the temperature between ten and twenty-five degrees and clear skies.  Today, we cycled into autumn - the rain arrived and the leaves on the trees along our bike path were falling faster than old Australian cyclists. I do see the irony that I had an accident in one of the safest countries in the world for riding a bike. Germany has a bewildering number of bike lanes, paths, forest tracks and footpaths dedicated to two wheels. Perhaps too many. Can I blame the poor ...

Today, Cathie and I returned to the 1960s - a time of our childhood. There was no time travelling involved. We simply arrived, by bicycle, at the village of Yerseke located on the eastern shore of an estuary in the Dutch province of Zeeland. It�s famous for the oysters harvested nearby. But it should be widely known as one of the nicest friendliest places in Europe. We arrived to our accommodation admirably early and were welcomed by Meinte , the tall handsome owner who has converted the old Catholic Church, Sint Anna, into a beautiful bed and breakfast . He proudly showed us around his artistry, including the upper deck which he rents out to community groups as a meeting place. Our room had high ceilings and its own courtyard. He suggested a restaurant for the evening and booked a table, making sure we had the best seat in the place. We didn�t know that at the time, of course. Cathie and I walked around the village in the late afternoon. We immediately noticed there were children ...

France, Belgium, The Netherlands - three countries in three days of cycling. Yes, it sounds like a marathon torture test for some saddle-sore adventure cyclist. But, if the middle country is Belgium and it's only ninety kilometres from the one border to the next, it's not so hard.  Beginning in the French town of Dunkirk, we cycled in the hazy early morning across the Belgie border and immediately noticed the difference, particularly in the houses - many more were built of an uninspiring brown brick. However, the cycle paths improved dramatically and suddenly there were route numbers every few hundred metres. All you had to do was the follow the chosen number and turn at the chosen spot. Except, we didn�t have the numbers for our planned (unplanned?) route. Should we take 54 or 11?  Oh well, it�s a new country, which means lots of different cakes to eat while trying to decide which way to go. Yes, we got lost. Usually there was someone to suggest the correct route. In fact, I�...

My wife and I have been cycling for a week in France, beginning in the Brittany town of St Malo and following the Eurovelo 4 route through Normandy to just outside of Dieppe. It's been 550 kilometres of easy riding, with the vast majority being on:  converted railway lines or lonely back roads. While the EV 4 isn't signposted as much as we'd prefer, it's easy enough to plot a route through the numerous French villages, all adorned with flower displays and regalia celebrating the recent 70th anniversary of the D-Day landings. We've seen almost as many USA flags as French ones.  We managed to cycle through the elegant resort town of Deauville during the American Film Festival without seeing one famous guest, although there were many overly suntanned security guards dressed in tight-fitting suits and wearing serious expressions.  We spent a few hours getting lost in Le Harve trying to plot a route through the town without climbing a rather imposing hill. In the end, af...