Balkan Hosts

I have some bad news. Willie Soft Spot was stolen last night. I enjoyed a nice dinner with Francesco at the same Italian restaurant that Rhett and I frequented. When I walked outside, Willie was gone. I played back the situation in my head a hundred times. Did I forget to lock the bike? Surely not, it has become second nature to lock my bike much the way you lock your car door. I’m less likely to forget to lock the bike because it is such an ordeal. Forgetting to lock your car door is a pretty easy mistake to make. All you have to do is push a button, from anywhere. You don’t even have to be next to the car. The bike is different. You have to unlock the chain, take it off of the bike, wrap it around the back tire, and relock it. Regardless of how it happened, it happened. The good news is the office has an extra bike which I am now borrowing until I can find a suitable replacement for Willie. The part that bothers me is that it wasn’t my bike. It was Brent’s bike. He was nice enough to let me borrow it and I lost it. I feel like a jerk.

In the meantime I have a pretty nice ride. The seat is not as nice as Willie’s and the color isn’t as awesome but the new bike is an upgrade in all other respects.

A lighter note:

My coworker, Jelena, went to Bosnia and brought back some of the local red pepper sauce, homemade by her mother. I raved about it when we went to the Bosnian restaurant and she promised to bring back the recipe when she went to visit. She did me one better. Apparently it takes eight to ten hours to make this stuff. The time spent is evident.

McCain = Bush = Worse than Hitler

I worked all day Thursday while Rhett gave himself a bike tour of the town. I asked how things went and he gave me his typical, "No sweat dude, no sweat", answer. After work, I met Rhett back at the apartment and we set about finding some food and having a few beers. Francesco was going to meet us at the aforementiond, Sheleighla, at 8:30. As you know, my record with meeting Francesco is not very good. I stood him up last time.

Rhett and I made some calls home and then set off to find dinner. The only problem was that Rhett's bike (nicknamed Traveller after General Lee's favorite horse) did not have a functioning light and it was dark. The politie do not like it when you ride around sans illumination. We took it back to the bike shop where the attendant refused to replace the bike. He wanted to fix the light. So I waited in the cold, Rhett in the dingy bike shop, while this guy puts Traveller on the rack and fixes his light. We are not going to make it to Sheleighla by 8:30. When Rhett and Traveller finally emerge from the bike shop, I start to realize something is not right. Rhett doesn't seem to know how to mount the bike and then, when he finally does, the bike is wobbling all over the place. Rhett has done the impossible. He has forgotten how to ride a bike. This is obviously very entertaining for me except that it is not helping my- meet Francesco on time- cause. Compounding Rhett's general biking ineptitude is the challenge of biking in Holland for the first time. Bikes are as much a part of the traffic as cars and you have to act like it to survive. It takes a while to get used to this. Rhett is not completely grasping the concept. When I go to make a turn, he ends up in the opposite direction. Turning is apparently a problem for Rhett. I'd love to seem him handle a motorcycle.

We eventually made it to an Italian restaurant where I practiced my six Italian words, much to the delight of the Italian waiters and waitresses (not really, they were understandably indifferent). The food was good and affordable. The portions were more American sized than Italian sized so we got full and went to meet Francesco. Rhett started to get the hang of things on the way to Sheleighla. He was still slow to turn but the trip was decidedly less eventful. Francesco was pissed. He had only been there for ten mintues but he showed up fifteen minutes late, knowing I would not be on time. He only ordered a half pint, a very unEnglish thing to do. Sheleighla is an English/Irish bar; I'm surprised his countrymen did not attack him.

Sheleighla was dead so we returned to the Plein because the bars are cool and it is close to home. I made friends with the bartenders at the last bar. They invited us to stay after hours and talk politics. One of them compared Bush to Hitler and said that John McCain was exactly like Bush. They thought American hospitals denied emergency surgery to those without insurance. Just thought we let people die. And, don't even get them started about abortion. There is only one way to look at it and America looks at it the wrong way. One guy told me that America should be more like Holland because Holland is perfect. I run into this kind of attitude everywhere. Europe is perfect and America is wrong. It's amazing that we have the reputation for being closed minded.

They finally asked us to leave once they realized that we were not going to install Obama as Supreme Chancellor. On the way home I gave a ride to a Dutchman on the back of Willie, lost Rhett (twice), and bought frites. After scouring the town, Francesco and I found Rhett at my apartment. "Where you been? I took a shortcut." I thought we would have to exchange the bike for a tricycle but Rhett has morphed into Lance Armstrong.

Nothin' But Blue Skies

Willie started vomiting spokes Monday so I had to buy a back wheel. Den Haag’s Centraal train station has its own bike shop. I thought it was worth trying since it is so close to my house. For a back wheel I have received quotes of, 30 Euro (of which he was out), 50 Euro, and 65 Euro. Back wheels cost 45 Euro at the train station. I’ll take it. The only caveat is that you have to install the wheel yourself. No big deal. I used to do all kinds of bike maintenance. Up until the age of eight, I disassembled and reassembled bikes like I was getting paid for it.

I got the bike home and set to changing that pesky back wheel, poised to enjoy a life of cycling freedom. I employed my trusty multi-wrench to do the work. The only thing I took for granted was that everything on a bike is fastened with a nut and bolt. This seemed like a logical assumption to me since they sell this multi-wrench. If I needed an Allen wrench, they should include that as an attachment to my multi-wrench. I had the wheel almost off when I realized my hardware shortcoming. One little bolt required an Allen wrench; an Allen wrench I did not own. I sat there frustrated as the Dutch stared. I don’t know why but the Dutch stare, especially if you are working on a bike. It was like I had found the Ark of the Covenant and no one wanted to get too close for fear of getting Raiders of the Lost Arked. I was hungry and frustrated. I had two choices- put the bike back together (a task that would take another half hour) or find something to substitute for an Alan wrench. I looked everywhere for a solution. None of the removed nuts would work; neither would any of the coins in my pocket. I tried to use my keys as a substitute to no avail. Then I cussed.

I gave some other unmentionable theories a shot before going back to the keys. Finally, one of the keys worked. In the greatest (of five) handyman experience of my life, I removed the wobbly wheel and replaced it.

My life has changed. Old Willie would take several seconds to get from dead stop to moving straight forward. I would usually sway from side to side, avoiding the onslaught of annoyed Dutch to my left and right. Now I’m like Don Garlits off the line and Dale Earnhardt in clean air, leaving all challengers behind in a wake of despair and frustration. I’m Undutchable. My commute time, and this is no joke, has been cut in half. It once took me thirty minutes to get to work. No more. I can now make it there in fifteen, ten if I get up on the wheel like Stroker Ace.

Travis gets here Friday. Our rental car is reserved and we’re headed for Munich.

Willie's New Groove

I realize that Willie (for those of you just joining us, Willie is the baby blue bike I have been riding) has dominated the conversation. That is how things operate in Holland. Today is no exception. I have been easy on Willie Soft Spot (the soft spot refers to an unfortunately placed sticker on Willie's cross bar). The truth is, Willie's seat has been punishing my "soft spot" since I picked him up two days ago. I do not have any tools here so I had yet to remedy the problem until today. For some reason the seat was pointing up at about a 45 degree angle from the road. Luckily, the attorney I am working for has a crescent wrench and now things are kosher. I felt like an outsider before, with my wobbly wheeled bike that performed abortions on my potential children. Now I feel like a Dutch resident. I think that's what it takes to belong. You need a bike that can be mounted with pride, not trepidation.

I apologize for the abundance of words at the expense of pictures. I will include some eye candy for my ADD readers as soon as I get a chance. The medieval city of Gent, Belgium is probably on tap for this weekend which will likely reap hundreds of pictures.

Speaking of Belgium, I have a homework assignment for you. The next time you are at the liquor store, see if you can find a beer called, Kasteel. I think I mentioned it earlier. It is as ubiquitous as it is delicious over here but I bet we can't get it in America.