Modern consumers in Goirle |
Brabantse Land-route, day 3 (ANWB map) |
I follow my Google map, ANWB map and posted map of Goirle to locate point 35 on the west edge of town. Found it, then headed for 77, which starts as a cobblestone road, then jogs over to a parallel packed-dirt trail through the woods, across from a big cow pasture, partially sunlit. Victor told me this is a good trail. Good place for breakfast (at 12:30) as I've only had the herring. There is the odor of manure/chemicals in the air but I won't let it bother me.
'Shrooms a poppin' |
Possibly Armilleria Mellea |
Christine Mathon met me at the gate, a tall, hearty, big-boned woman with an intense gaze. We immediately fell into conversation. She is very talkative and has a British accent from her time spent in England. They were about to have dinner and she went back to the house while I settled into the camper and slipped into my sandals. In a few minutes, Christine came knocking at the door again with the members of her family, who had come over to welcome me: the small, brown-egg-headed Victor and their two sons, each of whom shook my hand politely.
The 'shroom has landed |
Each number quest is a bit of an adventure, a bit of a treasure hunt. Point 67 - northwest of Alphen - appears alongside a highway, the Gilzerweg (to Gilze) and I'm thinking, how long will I be on this highway (though I'm safe on my little side road). Then a sign points to 68 on the left, fortunately at a break in the traffic, and I slip across the road to a rustic bench where I write this. It is also a road but a much less used one. A phosphorescent training racer just darted into it. This heads straight west flanked by stately rows of trees, then opens a bit as one side becomes a cornfield. Then, scattered houses, a pen for chickens. Soon a sign announces, "You are approaching point 68." A road-width tractor rolls toward me, I divert into the sandy track at the side and come out at a little intersection (Altenaweg & Alphenesebaan): knooppunt 68. My road (Altenaweg) jogs to the right by a nondescript pale brick house surrounded by bright green hedges. That's the way to the next point, 61.
Now, west of Chaam, the fietspad enters the Strijbeeks Heide, a kind of wilderness area with trails through the woods, purple heather on sand flats. It's very still and peaceful. I can hear a dove cooing, a bird warbling, things falling off trees. The path is just a sandy track.
I was looking at the introductory material posted in the parking lot. A middle-aged woman has been chatting on her cell phone, then directs her comments at me. I tell her I can't understand, and she tells me to forget it. "No, please, I really want to know."
"Well, it's just that I lost my iPhone," the large-framed 40ish woman explained. She was out walking her dog. "And a man called my sister and said he had it ..."
"And you thought it might be me?" I asked.
"Do you have it?"
"No." I giggled. "But you thought it might be."
"Right ... Are you American?' I nodded. "An American, traveling alone by my little town?" she asked incredulously.
"Amazing, isn't it?" Then, not knowing what else to say, I added, "I've been enjoying it."
"Well, you go on enjoying it," she concluded.
Gooseberries on the vine |
Sunset approach to Breda |
I arrive at a bridge over the canal at point 83, which I cleverly noted on my Google map of the evening's destination. When I turned up Ginnekenweg, I realized there was some kind of party going on, the Zomerfest. Last blast of the summer I suppose. Mostly blonde, tall people gathered in throngs around alcohol dispensers, beats thumping like oompah music for the smart set. (What is it about rhythmic pounding that so appeals?)
Cell phones ready: summerfest in Breda |
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