Thought Picnic: Pedalling in veins

Cycling again

Did I say I am back on my bicycle? In fact that was from Sunday morning when I thought I’ll reconnect the back carriage and straighten the handle bars before a careful probably 15km ride to church.

In the end, I probably did just about 60km on Sunday, more leisurely than muscle-grinding graft as each journey for the early and late services for the Lenten period took between 45 minutes to 55 minutes as I varied routes to determine the most optimal.

For the evening ride, I needed to fix the rear light that I thought required the replacement of electric bulb, thankfully, it was just the batteries that needed replacing because the lights were really LEDs.

Quite some damage

On Monday, I visited the hospital for blood tests in readiness for my consultant appointment which was rescheduled for the late evening of the same day in two weeks’ time.

The hand brake on the left handle of my bicycle which controls the rear wheel when applied created a rather howling sound, it was then that I noticed the accident I had just over the week before had broken the part of the fulcrum mechanism of the handle such that the brakes were applied too firmly than necessary – it works but should be replaced.

Getting back to cycling however is very helpful, it means I have the necessary exercise for increase muscle tone in my legs, strengthening my support and meaning I could do without my cane for longer periods of time.

Sides for blood

Then about hospital, I got there in the early afternoon, registered and once again I found myself a bit confused about which arm to put forward. It is strange that distinguishing between my left and right limbs gets me a bit flummoxed at certain times; I then presented my left arm.

I still cannot watch the needle go in but have to will the blood does not stop flowing into the partly vacuum primed vials, I do not think I could entertain another puncture wound as she easily drained out 7 vials.

I have not gotten to see the Catholic pastor for the best part of 7 months now; I hope to be able to see him when next I am in hospital.

Before I left, I went to confirm my rescheduled appointment which will be a late evening one; a Lenten bloodletting can presage delirium – God, give me strength. 

Thought Picnic: These Legs Were Made For Walking

The passage of time

Sometimes, there is so much going on and so much to write about but one is not presented with the inspiration to commit the thoughts and happenings to the structure of a blog.

Milestones and dates have come and gone, some, one wants to remember, others, one will love to forget be those landmarks 31 years, 9 years, 2 years or even 10 months – we count the passage of time for blessing and thankfulness or for dread of a past that would be best part of the long distant past.

The pain and the cane

However, I have been interested in sharing some news about my health. For 8 years, I have used a cane for problems with back-pain initially and then the loss of muscle-mass as a result of the lack of use of my left leg which was most affected by the cancer lesions on my sole.

For over a year, I have struggled with the problems of a weak leg, the exhaustion of walking and a unbalanced gait that resulted from having weaker leg. The cane appeared to steady my walk and give me just that little extra for traction, albeit considerably slower than other pedestrians.

Strength returning

I discovered the fun of cycling about half a year ago and I have gone to places I have never ventured by bicycle unaware that I have to stamina to make such journeys. Maybe it was just the matter of means, opportunity, will and ability, but I have noticed some really good results.

It has now gone 4 weeks since I stopped using my cane, there were times I have packed my 3-piece bolt-up cane in my bag, I do that no more. I have given up the use of the cane and had not need to use even an umbrella for support when I was out the other day.

Not a fashion statement

There are people who have thought the cane was a throw-back to some genteel age of being dandy and proper, much as one did at times have that appearance, the purpose was hardly for fashion or airs.

I would not have thought a time will come when I will not need the cane again and for that I am thankful and grateful to God as well as happy that I am discovering a new age of youthfulness.

That is, I think, a good update to share.

Night cycling

The nostalgia of food

The fact is nostalgia runs thick when you have left home for another place. The degree to which you might feel nostalgia might however differ for all sorts of people.

Whilst I have no particular inclination to return to Nigeria, I do enjoy Nigerian food that I either get to cook for myself or order from the gradually improving Obalade Suya in Amsterdam South which seems to have exceeded the African Kitchen in organisation, sophistication and sense of service by far – they even have a website.

Also there is fare from England that you cannot find in Amsterdam supermarkets, from the ordinary things like sliced white bread, through certain cereals and then pork pies amongst other goods – teas, biscuits, puddings, soups to name but a few.

The British shop (Absolutely British) in Amsterdam moved to Amstelveen over a year ago and I usually get there by tram and metro, a journey taking about 45 minutes.

Getting the bike out

This time, I thought I would get on my bicycle and ride out there, the estimated distance using Google Maps was about 11 kilometres from my home but that was using the pedestrian calculation, the journey by car could not be afforded bicycles and the directions by bicycles have not been fully integrated.

So, I thought I had to go due West, then due South keeping a general idea of Amsterdam’s cartography in my head, I did not really miss a turn though I could have made my journey more efficient.

I avoided a mishap where a car that had passed the traffic lights but had been caught in a tailback that was at an intersection, the road cleared in front of the car just when the traffic lights gave me right of way and it was just half a metre from broken bones or a dented bonnet.

The journey took just short of an hour and the ride was leisurely enough not to leave me panting and I stocked up on home goods.

The sleight of lights

On my return journey I got to a sign pointing to Amsterdam Centre but in opposite directions, to the right I could have a river-view ride with less vehicular traffic but it was getting dark.

I pedalled gaining a rhythm that was not too exhausting but met with my pet peeves again and again, the lawless cyclists of Amsterdam.

I would that the police conducted more checks on cyclists at traffic lights who ignore the signs and most especially the ones that ride at night without lights.

It was bad enough that you could not see oncoming bicycles approaching at speed or those coming up from behind so as to take them into consideration, then there were the ones in front who rode oblivious of other road users without high-visibility clothing.

Rules for cyclists broken

The worst situation was with cyclists riding up the wrong way without giving way to those who had right-of-way and I met up with many as I cursed under my breath at the irresponsibility and carelessness of the riders.

I remember that it was my care and concern from a lady cyclist in front of me on a foggy night without lights that held me up the day I got beaten up by drink-and-drug fuelled Moroccans.

It is utterly unacceptable but in Amsterdam cyclists ride as if there are no rules, no laws and they had right of way in all circumstances against cars and public transport.

There is this underlying vice of impatience that pushes them on, they just cannot been seen to stop but some to get stopped and wheeled away, then between the feelings of sympathy and indifference you realise that no matter how fast you are, you are not going beyond your destination – so why the rush?

Love thy neighbour and bike off

Neighbours to decadence

Neighbourliness is particularly of the essence when you live in a city like Amsterdam. For years, I have told people that Amsterdam to the tourist is a lot different from Amsterdam to the resident.

We do not all live in coffee-shops (outlets as bars that sell marijuana) or traipse up and down the streets of the red-light district (an area of Amsterdam where ladies of the night display themselves scantily clad in red-lit window boxes) looking for and libido-sapping soul destruction.

Gladly, when I arrived here about 6 years ago, my feet were firmly placed on the ground, that none of that was of any interest.

More coffee with lumps of dope

However, I do remember pre-EasyEverything Internet Café times, the shops that offered that service were coffee-shops. So, you got to surf the net and check your email in the haze of head-lifting smoke leading to drugged stupor.

Once, I arrived at the shop only to find all terminals occupied, so I sat at the bar and ordered a coffee which in Amsterdam always comes with a biscuit. I had to ask if those were space-biscuits (biscuits baked with marijuana as part of the ingredients). Thankfully, they were just ordinary biscuits.

A friend once bought a pack of biscuits and within an hour of finishing a biscuit, he was completely out of sorts for nigh on 24 hours. Which also reminds of that night as I drank my coffee, a man stood up and walked through the glass pane of the main door completely spaced-out.

As he fell into the shattered glass, he got up again and I shrieked “He will fall into the canal”, to which people said, don’t bother, he knows his way.

More money and no sense

This however was what I observed of many of my English countrymen who for the fertile business and job opportunities in the late 90s through to about 2002 in the Netherlands arrived at work each morning inebriated, drained, unproductive and incoherent.

Having spent time in a bar, a coffee shop, the red-light district or the Holland Casino where they gambled away their earnings with impunity and never felt it for the fact that they earned well beyond their wildest dreams.

Every “new money” type got themselves a Porsche 911 which they wrote off with reckless speed chases as they evaded photographic capture by speed cameras.

No, that is not my Amsterdam, even though I am an expatriate, Amsterdam is a lively city of culture, theatre, activity, and pleasure.

Go indoors next door

However, I was taken aback when my first neighbour mentioned he was baby-sitting only for me to find out later that in fact he was baby-sitting his new born son. Between our doors, I did not notice for 9 months that his wife was pregnant – I felt rotten.

So, when I had new neighbours, I decided that good neighbourliness was important; two weeks would not pass without some sort of contact. OK! I mainly visited them than they visiting me, but we maintain a very good rapport and friendliness.

A new pastime

So, this afternoon, as we had planned aforetime, I was invited for a bike ride round the outskirts of Amsterdam and we went on cycle paths that I had never travelled before, over bridges into a village (Schellingwoude) that looked like something I would see in Beatrix Potter land.

I saw a few cottages that looked like the occupants would invite me in for scones, clotted cream and Earl Gray tea, as I thought aloud, a few people we passed said very nice.

Anyway, it appears I must give my bicycle a good servicing because when my friend visits for Easter, we might be exploring a few more villages, probably with my neighbours too – if the weather is good.

References

Amsterdam Cycle Route 9: dike villages, grassland landscape, heritage tourism