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Lemburgh
Day 84 - August 27
By now, Vladivostok means nothing to the people we meet. I was talking with a few people in Wolfsburg before we left and told them that we had cycled from Vladivostok on our way to the North Sea. The look on their faces was of hopelessly scanning a map to place Vladivostok. When I offered assistance saying that it was in Russia, on the Sea of Japan, the response was, "Wow, so you cycled across all of Europe!" The cartographically challenged often equate cycling across Russia as starting in Moscow and going west, which ignores Russia's covering of the Asian continent, but by now I only smile. We are, after all, also cycling across Europe.
Each village through which we cycled had maypoles prominently displayed in the center, something which I had not noticed as much earlier. Also, there were many windmills, of the modern rather than historic variety, spread out along the fields that made better use of the westerly winds than we could.
An obvious miscalculation, we had been told in the morning that Lemburgh was 160 km from Wolfsburg. With the strong headwind, we were thus a bit irritable when after 210 km we finally reached the farm house where we were to stay. Our welcome, however, made every km worth it. Near the home of one of the German cyclists, the town had organized a wonderful reception with the traditional hospitality of the area. People lined the entry way to the farm house and as soon as we dismounted our bicycles, we passed around beer, and a five person band played traditional music. We enjoyed a wonderful meal and friendliness. We were getting closer to the end, and these people knew where Vladivostok was.
Coevorden, Netherlands
Day 85 - August 28
The overriding theme of the day was receptions and reunions. Forty or 50 km outside of Lemburgh, another town was waiting to welcome us. As the church bells tolled for 10:00 am, people stood in doorways and leaned out of windows to wave and cheer as we went through town. We expected coffee, but certainly not the warm reception we were given. A few hundred people lined the entry way to where a simple coffee had become an elaborate breakfast. Children released balloons, accordions and guitars made music, and the beer tent was opened at an hour much earlier than a cyclist would imagine. The festive spirit lifted us all, but because of a tight schedule, we only stayed an hour before moving on to the next reception 30 km further.
The second reception was a few speeches and a champagne toast at city hall. It could not be too long, because we had to go another 18 km before we were to meet a third group for lunch. In essence, we were cycling from one party to another.
At the lunch stop, we were greeted by a handful of cyclists from the Netherlands who had come to escort us the remaining 40 km to the German-Dutch border. The border posts are gone and only a sign remains to indicate the change. In our case, however, there were a few hundred people blocking the road to welcome us and let the Dutch riders know that they were home. Tears and smiles were everywhere as people were reunited with families and friends, many for the first time in three months. There was another reception in the center of town followed by a dinner at the Coevorden Castle, which now functions as city hall. With only two days of cycling remaining, the reunion with the surroundings of many peoples home has begun the reflections of saying goodbye.
Wervershoof
Day 86 - August 29
Holland has 15 million people and 14 million pigs. Playfully, I expressed my uncertainty with how my fellow cyclists would be counted in any subsequent census. Regardless, I saw more sheep and cyclists than anything else.
It was raining, for the first time in 2 months, and I was told that it was "typical Dutch weather:" gray clouds, slight wind and a reliable rain. That did not, however, stop the festivities. Twenty or 30 km outside of Coevorden, we were met on the outskirts of town by a semi-truck and trailer pulling a band that escorted us to another reception in town.
There, the mayor summed up the feeling of most about our trip, saying, "I think what you have done was ridiculous, but I admire you."
Continuing west, there were traditional Dutch houses, long buildings with thatch roofs, containing the living quarters in the front and stables in the back. Though it is no longer as divided as it was 150 years ago, the country is divided with
Dutch Reformed Protestants living in the north and Roman Catholics living in the south. In some areas the communities live amiably, and one cyclist told me that in his community the Catholics and Protestants will periodically worship together and even share in communion. That is more the exception, however, and part of today we cycled in the more conservative Dutch Reformed part of the country. There, many people still dress in traditional clothes and wooden shoes.
There are many threats to the traditional way of life in the Netherlands, one being the influx of immigrants that alter balance of the country's ethnic homogeneity, but one internal threat is to the conservative Dutch Reformed communities. Given the high population density of the country, housing and land is a prime commodity. As affluent secular Dutch from the western part of the country look for homes and begin moving into the traditional communities, they make housing less affordable for local residents and alter the conservative balance in the community through legislation and living a less conservative lifestyle. This has created tension in the conservative communities where the option of integration is a threat to maintaining identity.
Much of the day we cycled on the numerous bike paths that make the exceptionally flat country a great place for cycling. Cycling west across the water meant facing a respectable headwind, but at the end there was yet another reception with more cyclists seeing their family and friends. This is our last evening together as a group and we are all excited to be so close to the sea.
Scheveningen
Day 87 - August 30
After three months and over 12,500 km, the ride ended with the ceremonial dipping of the front tire into the North Sea at the pier in Scheveningen! The ride has been long and filled with many wonderful and challenging experiences, but since we have raised over 325,000 Euros to the worldwide efforts to eradicate poliomyelitis, we all feel proud to have participated.
For the final day, close to 150 cyclists joined us for the 140 km ride from Wervershoof to Scheveningen. Nonetheless, those of us who had been together since May, chose to cycle out last day together. The cohesion we had developed in cycling together was apparent, and we knew what to expect from each other and there was a greater level of trust in cycling closely than with the new cyclists.
The ride was beautiful, taking us across the polder, along the coast, and through the dunes to Scheveningen. Windmills which were used to maintain water levels in the polder areas below sea level were prevalent along the ride and one could see canals and sections of land of different heights corresponding to the need to keep the polder from being flooded. We had two ferry crossings over canals built to control water levels and access to the North Sea. Since close to 30 percent of the country is reclaimed land the water levels must be closely controlled. This requires a communal attitude because what you do or what your neighbor does with water can have significant implications for other regions of the country. Thus, a political power structure emerged in the country that is independent of local and state control and has the power to override local and regional ordinances should the maintenance of water levels require it.
A storm came in from the sea as we first reached the coast, 50 km or so north of Scheveningen. It was short lived and the skies had cleared as we entered the last 40 km section which took us through the sand dunes, a natural barrier to the sea serving a purpose similar to that of the man-made dikes.
The arrival in Scheveningen was the end moment for which we had waited.
It was a very public event, but it was also poignantly private. There was a closeness and sense of known accomplishment shared by the group of cyclists that transcended the noise of the marching band, the crowds, the media, and the reception. As we gathered at the waters - some dipped their front tires, others submerged their bikes as well as themselves - we were sharing a moment that took three months to build. And as we left the waters of the North Sea to return to our respective homes, we will hold onto this spirit of communion and celebration.
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