Bavarians Do It Better

On a bike ride last week I came across this:

A flagpole with the Bavarian flag on top, the German flag hanging much lower. Sheesh.
It made me giggle, because it very accurately represents the Bavarian attitude towards most everybody else: You're OK, but there's no denying that we are the best. Deal with it.

While I do not always agree with that statement (Especially when it comes to politics, conservatism, entanglement of church and state, conservatism, ...Argh, maybe I have to rant about this some other time...), I will say this: Bavarians know how to party and how to put together a kick-ass race.

Which brings me to today's topic: The 2008 Arber Radmarathon, the 24th edition of a bike race which starts and ends in Regensburg, a city close to my parents' home.

My dad had done the race twice before and for some reason I thought I was in decent enough shape to go do it with him this year. The term 'race' might be a bit misleading, because there is no timing or actual racing. Bikers show up at a designated time and do one of the different tours at whatever pace they are comfortable...Some are definitely going fast though, it was pretty impressive.

There were four tours for road bikes and two for mountain bikes. The organizers had also included a tour for families with small kids.

Well, dad and I decided on the second shortest tour (Tour C in yellow in the picture below), but it seemed daunting enough for me. I don't think I've ever biked much further than 100K at a time...


And at any rate, 170 and 250K (blue and purple route) seemed just insane, especially with the elevation. Yikes!

Here's the elevation profile of our ride. The hill at kilometer 80 sucked the most: Tired legs + elevation = no fun.


Well, we set off with what seemed hundreds and hundreds of others at 7AM (All the tours combined had 7000+ bikers.). I started off pretty slow, didn't want to run out of gas halfway. Dad told me later that he was a little worried in the beginning. Guess he wasn't worried so much later, because I think I did alright on the hills. And it got pretty hilly pretty fast. Some nice downhills as well, my maximum speed was 60km/h, which is fast for me...

All in all it was an excellent and amazingly exhausting bike ride. The ride led us through beautiful scenery. Of course, I was too lazy to take a lot of pictures...Here's a few random dudes:


And why do Bavarians do it better?
First off, the organizers, volunteers and the police did a great job patrolling the roads. Much nicer to ride on streets/in towns with less or no traffic...
Secondly, the food/drink stations were really well run. They had all kinds of stuff, and of course the last station had beer already! Haha.


At the end of the ride, there was a huge party with all kinds of food and drink again. Every participant got three drink/food vouchers, which dad immediately exchanged for two more beers and brats.
Don't know how he (and a lot of the others) do it. No way I could down a beer and fatty food right after a ride or run...

Oh, and we got a decent-looking bike jersey at the end as well.

A pretty amazing day, all for the low price of 30 Euros and utter exhaustion.

The Woods Were Lovely, I Was Weak

Now I Have Promises To Keep.

Grr. Promises to my 13-year-old self.
[Oh, my apologies to Robert Frost.]
-----
I was a little ticked off yesterday:
Unbeknownst to me, I have turned into a grade-A-pussy.

No, not really. It's all good.
I did surprise myself though, and not in a good way.

See, I've always considered myself a bit of a tomboy, a girl who can keep up with the boys, play in the dirt (and dirty) and do anything a man can do. Maybe even better. Haha.

Well, long story short, I usually feel a bit dare-devilish on the bike. Flying down hills at (relatively) high speeds, leaning into curves, mountain-biking in the woods and such.

Took one of Dad's mountain bikes out for a spin yesterday and holy shit, I got a little scared! I braked a lot, went surprisingly slow down the slopes and was actually glad when I found an asphalt road.

I wasn't happy. What happened? When did I turn into an old lady? Is the Dutch flatness to blame, where a 100m long slightly sloped stretch of land is considered a major elevation? Is it old age?

Whatever it is, this trend better be reversed or at least stalled for a while...I'll make it my mission to get some of the youthful tomboyishness back while I'm on vacation.
Maybe I can even get a bruise as a badge of honor. For old time's sake. Just a small and non-dangerous one of course...

The 13-year-old who crashed her bike during a mad race-as-fast-possible-through-those-deep-puddles contest is still in there somewhere. She has to be.

Some pictures taken during the ride:

The tame trails.

12% slope. Fun going down, not as much fun going up. I can't believe how much even these easy things hurt after only biking in flat surroundings for so long.

Famous monument close to my parents' place. Built in 1815 by Ludwig I, King of Bavaria, to commemorate the war against Napoleon and to just brag about our general awesomeness.

Home Is Where The Heart Is

Den Haag is my home now. There. I said it.

I didn't feel this way for quite a while. It took me almost two years to consider the city on the North Sea "my home". I always liked living in the area; it's a beautiful and interesting part of Europe.

That said, I liked it, somewhat like you might like a hotel. It's agreeable, it has all the necessary amenities, you can't complain. But it's like any other hotel; interchangeable, temporary. No permanent attachment whatsoever.

That is how I started out in Den Haag. A partner who had no love for the place or the people. A partner who had only a temporary work assignment. A partner who treated the place like a hotel. A luxury hotel, nonetheless, but not a home.

Now that I've inhabited the city by myself for 17 months, I realize that my feelings towards it have slowly changed.

I moved from a 19th floor luxury-apartment (which could have been in any major city of the world; no signs of anything Dutch or local…) to a small apartment that I shared with a roommate (well, three different ones, but one at a time). The apartment had the steep, small Dutch stairwells, a tiny balcony that felt crowded, but cozy. Every way you looked, there were people, neighbors.

The apartment was located in the "most Dutch" part of Den Haag, the seaside resort Scheveningen, a place with the wonderfully decrepit charm of better days.

I could hear the neighbors' baby cry and the students across the road have a party. I said "Hello" to my Dutch neighbors, who rode their bikes to work, planted flowers on the sidewalk and didn’t seem to care that they lived so close together and in plain view of each other.

I felt as if I was finally living in Holland.

I moved last month but the feeling of authenticity hasn't changed. My new place is in a different area, but the concept stays the same. I live IN Den Haag now, not above it. Literally and figuratively. Ground floor instead of 19th floor. Meeting neighbors instead of avoiding them.

I feel more connected to the city and its people. I finally call Den Haag my home. I bike and run through its streets, dunes, and parks. I curse and enjoy its temperamental weather; its relentless rain, infuriating wind and gentle sunshine. I admire its architecture and history, its place in the world. I celebrate its festivals and diverse inhabitants. I'm at home.

Den Haag has slowly and stealthily made its way into my heart. And regardless of what's next on tap, it will always stay there.

Come On, Stalin, Light My Fire?

I'm dragging some stuff home from the store, walking past the museum; a place I have biked past a million times. I guess I'm usually fast as lightening (bahaha), because I had never noticed this before:

Some kind of art installation in what I can only assume is a old phone-booth-like fire alarm. And yes, that's a bust of Joseph Stalin surrounded by red felt.


But wait! It gets better: There's a old-timey-looking lamp and a plastic fish inside.


Somebody care to take a guess what all this means?
-- In case of imminent threat of communism call the fire brigade?
-- Stalin's opinions were fishy?
-- Examine socialism under a bright light?
WTF?