|Idyllic spot en route to Bolsward.|
I feel a bit of pressure to cover all those kilometers before dusk: more than 50, actually, since I started at Laaxum, about 6 km before Stavoren, the day's official starting point.
Some of these old couples are like matched sets, down to the same bicycles and accessories.
|"11 Cities Route" - Day 3|
|Bolsward: clever advertising placement|
No blacks or Turks up here in Friesland, it seems. Now an unusual trio strides my way, two studs in tank tops and sailors' white trousers, one with dark receding hair and shades like a mafioso, the other with a long blonde ponytail, between them a svelte babe in pigtails wearing a slyly ruffled flamenco dancer's skirt. Old folks sit with their coffees and chat by the canal.
I'd best continue my trek.
|Honor system: leave your change and choose your squash|
From Witmarsum, I follow the country motorway, along with drivers out for a TGIF pleasure spin, through Arum (same in Dutch!), a place with some big manors, and now Kimswerd (Kimswert), with a pretty church I almost don't notice. They're having a summer festival this weekend. Now I've got my headphones on, John Cale's Dream Interpretation, which somehow fits the somber, nondescript character of the houses, the fields of wheat. It really rivals New Jersey for suburban nothingness. I belong in this family landscape no more than I do in, say, Villa del Carbón. Even the oompah music blaring from somewhere reminds me of the afternoon jollies its Mexican counterpart might provide to some vaquerito (cowpunk).
Anyway for some reason I've had a much easier time of it today, Friday the 13th, although I think I've clocked more kilometers than yesterday. Now for my triumphant arrival in Harlingen. Continued ...