Day 6 — Holy crap! — I mean, Ossenzijl to Elburg.

27 June 2007 in Netherlands, daily summary, ronde ijsselmeer

So we got kind of a late start today after yesterday’s exhausting efforts, and by the time we got back into Ossenzijl just after noon the local bike store was closed for their lunch break. Crap. No spare tires or tubes here. However, we did have an absolutely stupendously delicious late breakfast/brunch at Café Restaurant Stuitje — the house “uitsmijter” (literally translated, “bouncer” but think “fried egg sandwich with delicious trimmings”) featured three eggs topped with cheese, fried bacon, onions, bell peppers, tomatoes, and probably more that I’m forgetting, all on top of toast topped with thinly sliced ham. Yum. Peter and I had one each, and were very, very happy.

After that we rolled out of town on full stomachs along a narrow bike path that followed the Kalenbergergracht to the town of Kalenberg, through the Weerribben national park. We bumped over lots of little bridges designed to rotate to the side for passing boats, and Peter was basically every kind of awesome navigating such tricky terrain. It was slow going, however, and so we were glad to finally reach smoother riding, especially when it took us past a place called Het Waeter, where we stopped for coffee and appeltaart for Peter, and a pannekoek for me. Yum pannekoek. I will describe this delicacy at far greater length on TracyFood some time, but for now, imagine a really big plate covered with a very thin pancake (but thicker than a crèpe) that tastes like the very best comfort food ever.

Unfortunately, during our coffee break, the wind turned. I had arranged for us to lodge at a bed and breakfast in Nunspeet, some 70-odd kilometers from Ossenzijl, but by 2:30 PM, with over 50 kilometers left to go, we were starting to doubt we’d make our destination for the night. So we called the B & B back to relay that information, only to be reassured that we were welcome to arrive relatively late at night. We thanked them, and said not to worry if we didn’t come by, which turned out to be very much the right thing…

Pressing on, we left the route briefly in Blokzijl, to inquire if there were any bike stores nearby, but the VVV (tourist information center) could only direct us to the next town, Vollenhove. There, we managed to acquire spare tubes, but not spare tires or the loan of a pump with a gauge with which to determine whether the rear tire was finally inflated to the correct pressure. (We sort of got the brush-off, really, so we moved on.)

Still fighting the wind, which alternated between head-on and coming at our side, we struggled through Sint-Jansklooster and Zwartsluis, at which point we realized that the next big town, Kampen, was only 14 kilometers away, and our destination some 20 kilometers past it. It was 4 PM, and suddenly reaching our goal seemed possible again. We resolved to stop for dinner in Kampen and refuel before blasting on (or getting blasted, depending on the wind).

In Kampen, we crossed the main bridge and spotted a boat moored at the waterfront advertising IJsselmeer paling (eel), and even Kamper paling at that. Dine on local delicacies? Don’t mind if we do! And we did. Deliciously. Turns out the boat had a restaurant on board as well as Paling-en-Vishandel Reumer, a fish market specializing in eel, with some of the freshest product in town (more on that in just a bit). For dinner I had IJsselmeer paling fried in butter, with fries and a garnish of side salad, and Peter had the “verrassingsmenu” — surprise menu, three kinds of fish, breaded and fried, also with fries and side salad garnish, but also with coffee and ice cream for dessert. It seemed like a daring choice, and a lot of food, but it turns out he needed the calories and ate all his lekkerbek, scholfilet (flounder), and kibbeling (on the one hand, it was very nice of the cook/server to tell us what kind of fish they were, and on the other hand, I still only know the English names for one out of the three.) I was hard-pressed to finish just my eel (there was so much I suspect it may have been multiple eels) and most of the side salad, but had to leave some fries behind, even with Peter’s help. After dinner, I went down into the hold to use the head, only to duck back upstairs for a camera to prove that we were eating the freshest fish in town — there were entire tanks of eels down there, and a whole setup for cleaning them and getting them ready for the kitchen upstairs. Awesome.

Then after a pleasant chat with Reumer fishmaster Jan (possibly Jan Reumer, although I didn’t ask), we were back on our way, full of newfound fish-fed energy. Kampen seems like a really cool city, full of medieval architecture and generally radiating a sense of history we’re coming to associate with Hanseatic League cities, which we have resolved to visit more of (Stavoren, I am looking your way). But we had 20-odd kilometers to go, and so on we went.

Until the trailer fell off the back of the bike.

AGAIN.

Dammit.

We were outside a little nowhere place called Noordeinde when it happened — blink and you’ll miss it, but our Zuiderzeeroute guide book informs us that the town church was built with the stones from another church that was destroyed in a flood — however, our guidebook also claimed that there were lodgings to be had in the town, and we did not find them. So on we went, very slowly, because the trailer was now attached to the bike with a random strap from our camping gear which had served as a makeshift clothesline after my laundry adventures of the night before (the dryer alternated between blowing hot air on the clothes and tumbling them, but never both at once, and plenty of beeping and needing to be reset all the while, until I ran out of coins and resolved to just hang everything that was still damp out in the cabin to dry). So that was a little dicey, especially when the trailer hitch got caught in the spokes of the rear wheel after a speed bump and knocked the rear brake open. Eeeek. A friendly bystander told us Elburg was just 7.5 kilometers further along the road, so on we limped.

We passed a bed and breakfast on our way into the city, but they were full. Inside the city the streets were cobblestone and too scary to ride with the trailer as barely-secured as it was, so we walked. Outside the VVV office there was a map with a list of other possible lodgings, and we started calling them, starting with whatever was closest and not entirely ridiculously priced. At first it seemed like no one was answering the phone, but at last I got through to someone: Mevrouw Greveling of the Meeuwenmaatstraat.

“You’re calling awfully late,” she said (but in Dutch, of course).

“Yes,” I said. “We’re traveling by bike and ran into a little trouble and had to walk a ways. We had reservations in Nunspeet but I had to call them off.”

“In that case,” she said, “I am so gastvrij (hospitable, welcoming) as to offer you a bed for the night.”

At this point I began the first of many heartfelt thankyous. We followed her directions into her neighborhood, got lost, were redirected by a lady walking her dog, and finally arrived at Mevrouw Greveling’s house, where she and her friend Henk welcomed us and earned our eternal gratitude many, many times over.

“Peter,” I said, “the phrase you need to learn is ‘Wij zijn u eeuwig dankbaar.’” (We are eternally grateful to you.)

There was tea. And cookies. We had showers and got recommendations for bike stores and hardware stores, both within less than five minutes of walking, as well as a shortcut for tomorrow’s ride. And now there is a soft bed, with bathroom really near by. Tomorrow we get up early and have breakfast and visit the bike store and sort stuff out. But in the meantime, and for the rest of our lives, we are so very happy to have been rescued like the strays we briefly were.