Oktoberfest

I can only give you pictures. We just got back from Bavaria and are not prepared for a lengthy discussion. I promise the stories will be worth the wait.

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.

Delft Interest

I didn’t get much sleep before riding to Delft because I stayed up trying to watch the LSU-Auburn instant classic. I did not make it through the game but there is no doubt in my biased mind that the SEC is the best football conference in the country.

Me, Mitra, Zheni, Randall (from Florida Coastal), and Chris all met at Chris’ place for our Sunday bike ride to Delft. Delft is about 6km (10 miles) from The Hague. I was excited about Delft because of its aforementioned historical significance. The ride was nice if for no other reason than the sense of accomplishment. I took Jon’s bike since Willie’s back wheel was on its last spokes.

Delft is beautiful. Cobblestone streets line picturesque canals with music coming from every pub and restaurant. We walked around in a lazy Sunday mood, marveling at the architecture and enjoying each other’s company. Each charming street gave way to another, and another, and another, and a carnival. You have to be kidding me, a carnival in the central square of a gorgeous historic city? Sure enough, there it was, a carnival just like I have in my back yard and Blessed Trinity puts on every year was happening in this romantic city. The girls automatically reverted to the fifth grade and wanted to go on the swinging death trap roller coasterish thing. This thing was like the bear cages at Blessed Trinity, without a cage. It flipped, spun, dove, and revolved. They asked if we would like to join them. Yeah, I want to end my life at twenty seven years old by falling out of a giant windmill and slamming into a sixteenth century church tower. I am not one to tempt death so Chris and I walked around the burial place of William of Orange while the girls and Randall staked their existence on a carney’s competence and hope for a thrill.

Chris and I sat in a nautical themed bar called, the Clipper, watching soccer and Dutchmen yelling at soccer. While watching the games we hatched our plan for becoming official ADO Den Haag fans/hooligans. I hope we don’t end up in Dutch jail but if we do it is the will of ADO Den Haag and thus our destiny. We couldn’t remember the date of the next home game so we agreed to get the 2008-2009 schedule tattooed on our forearms. This way there will never be a doubt about our allegiance or what time ADO next plays.

Delft was very nice but we didn’t get to see the resting place of William or where he was shot or anything else because the whole town shuts down on Sunday and throws a carnival. We had another beer at the Clipper before leaving Delft. I watched the carney strap more victims into the death trap. As he turned away from us I noticed something shiny coming out of his pack pocket. A wrench.

I Feel a Little Bit Like Eating a Steak

I went out with Jon, Chris, and Serena on Saturday night. My plan was to go to a bar called, O’Casey’s because they occasionally carry college football, if you ask nicely. It turns out; Jon, Chris, and Serena get most college football games on their television. I watched the first quarter of the Gator game in which Timmy Tebow looked like the force we all expected this year. Everyone else was ready to go out so we went to a free concert in honor of the U.N. Day of Peace. A Dutch punk band, clearly inspired by Fall Out Boy and other pop-punk-emoish bands, was playing on the main stage at this festival. The lead singer was dressed like Pete Wentz. He was wearing a hoody sweatshirt with a t-shirt underneath and skinny jeans. About an hour into the show he got rowdy. Someone gave him a row of potted plants. The pot was about six feet in length and I would guess there were about fifteen small plants in it.

Shortly thereafter, Pete started dancing with his back to the crowd. His skinny jeans were sagging and his butt was hanging out. The freaky Dutch loved it. The concert emcee/organizer did not. He came on stage in the middle of the show and tried to get the band to stop playing.
Keep in mind that this is a free public show in honor of the United Nations Day of Peace. The venue was basically like the Landing in Jacksonville. Not like the stage inside the Landing, like the front steps of the Landing.
Pete was undeterred. He kept playing and dancing around. The song came to a break (Patrick, Boda, somebody, what do you call that, a bridge?) and ole Pete started to chant, “I feel a little bit like throwin’ a plant, I feel a little bit like throwin’ a plant, if you feel a like throwin’ a plant say yeah!” This continued until all fifteen plants were safely in the audience.
The next chant went like this, “I feel a little bit like tweakin’ my nipples, I feel a little bit like tweakin’ my nipples, If you feel like tweakin’ your nipples say yeah!” Dude had his shirt up under his armpits and was following his own advice as it regarded nipples.

We didn’t stay much longer. We went to O’Casey’s for a beer and, hopefully, some football. The bartender gave a valiant effort but could not find the Gator game so we watched the Ryder Cup. Go U.S.A. If you are not familiar with the Ryder Cup, get educated. America had failed year after year until Boo Weekley danced like Happy Gilmore down the fairway. God bless America.

Lazy Sunday

We got our Tour on yesterday. We rode our bikes to Delft. It is a beautiful little town just outside of The Hague.

Super Troopers

Add Neosporin to your list of things that are not available in the Netherlands. I asked the pharmacist for some, she wasn’t familiar so I showed her the names of the ingredients. She looked at me like I had asked her, “Where do you keep your heroin? I’ve been tootin’ blow all weekend and need something to settle my nerves.” She offered vitamin B12 but I didn’t buy it. Neosporin is going to be added to my Holland survival kit-list that Travis is so graciously bringing.

Speaking of Travis, I saw someone get pulled over on their bike the other day. I was riding home from work Wednesday night with my brand new street legal lights when I noticed a tall man on a bike wielding an air traffic control baton. The closer I got, the more apparent it became that this man was in fact a bicycle fuzz who had a Dutchman in his clutches. The exchange looked much like the typical American traffic stop. The bike fuzz was chastising the young man while he looked up and nodded, occasionally asking questions to feign interest. The Law handed him a ticket and started the arduous process of refolding his ticket book and putting his pen back in the front jacket pocket. I immediately pictured a scenario from my forthcoming road trip to Germany. If you have never seen Super Troopers, stop reading and Google, “Super Troopers, German Couple Scene”. Warning: Some mild sexual content.

I can see us getting pulled over on the autobahn. A German patrolman comes to each side of the car and asks us whether we know how fast we are going.
“Well, yes officer, we were goin’ waaay too slow. We don’t have the aw-tow- bahn in ‘Merica,” my friend Jon replies.

“Ja, und maybe zere is zomething you can do vhor me, or perhaps zomething vhor my partner,” says the German trooper.

“Zomething? (I explain this last exchange to Jon) Oh, hell no! Buncha fa..”

Just then, Bulldawg wakes from his nap and asks what’s up. He has been drinking Belgian beers for the last five hours and has no idea we were just pulled over for going too slow. He says something in drunken Magamoll. It turns out that the Magamolls have been speaking German this whole time. It’s not that they mumble when they are drunk, they speak fluent German, that’s why we cannot understand them. Whatever he says works and we avoid spending the night at Dachau.

I promise to update you on our travels as soon as possible including whether or not my hypothesis about Magamoll speak is true but I do not plan on taking my computer to the world’s largest beer festival. I’m sure the hotel will have internet access so I will write a little something and/or have guest writer, Travis, add some of his observations.

I have recruited a group to go to Delft tomorrow. If you are unfamiliar with it, do a quick Google search. William of Orange, the George Washington of the Netherlands, defeated the Spanish from his Delft command center. He is buried in the Nieuwe Kerk (new church) which was completed in 1510. The Oude Kerk was built in the thirteenth century. The town is the birthplace of Delftware and is reportedly gorgeous. We are going to bike there which should be interesting because the guy at the market is sold out of budget wheels and I refuse to pay twice as much at a store; Willie and I are just going to limp along to the next town. Twenty or thirty Euro could buy a one way ticket to France or a nice bottle of wine once I get there.

Please exercise your right to vote. I have posted a poll. Travis and I need to figure out what to do during his second weekend in town.

Go Gators. You never appreciate something so much as when it is unavailable. I love Gator football but have become a fanatic since coming to Holland. I will not be able to watch the game so somebody pick up the cheering slack.

Fix You

For the first time in my life I wanted drugs and could not find them. You can buy marijuana at the corner store but good luck finding some Advil PM. A combination of no sleep, traveling, and the weather abruptly changing, left me with a serious cold. I went looking for something to help me sleep to no avail. You can not get basic drugs at the supermarket; you can not get basic over the counter drugs anywhere. I managed to find a liquid antacid at the pharmacy but good luck finding anything to help you sleep. After two hours of searching, I now have a liquid antacid that I can not use because the package is in Dutch and I forgot to ask about dosage and some ibuprofen that I brought from home. Thankfully, my immune system is a rock so I will be fine. I currently feel about 75% well.

Baseball tangent:

I am not in the habit of criticizing coaches because I plan on returning to the profession some day and do not want to generate bad karma.1 It is difficult to be critical when you don’t have a full grasp of the overall chemistry of the team and each player’s physical gifts. Even the die hard fan possesses too little knowledge to make a well reasoned judgment about a coach’s job status.2

I say this to establish my legitimacy as a managerial move critic in light of the most confusing managerial move in history. The Brewers have been sorry for their entire existence. It was not until they lured Ned Yost away from the Braves that the Brew Crew finally began to play baseball the right way. Other than moving Ryan Braun to the outfield, I do not know much about Yost’s strategic moves because I do not follow the Brewers very closely. But this much is absolutely true; They are in playoff contention this year and have had a winning record for three straight years. Imagine the University of South Florida firing their football coach because he couldn’t deliver a national title in three years’ time. To fire a manager with twelve days to go in the season does not make a lot of sense but it is especially asinine when your team is battling for its playoff life against arguably better teams.

1 Exceptions: Les Miles, Bobby Valentine, Lou Pinella, and Dusty Baker.


2 See 1