Sunday walk in Mollebos and tea at Het Wapen van Rijsenburg

Officially it’s spring in the Netherlands now but we are still very much in winter conditions. Along the coast, waters have frozen into beautiful forms, the temperatures still hover under 0C by day and the omnipresent wind is making sure it feels like -10C.



But this did not stop the Dutchman and I in going out for a walk in the forest. It has been a long time since we did something like this. In fact I have been curling up at home in my chair for the past weekend’s mainly because every weekend was themed with horrible weather—grey, cold, rainy or snowy. You do not want to get out when the weather is like this, except that, I’ve had it. I’ve really had it.



It is supposed to be spring, and I don’t care if the weather is not cooperating, I’ve had enough of staying in! I am going out =)



Mollebos forest walk in Utrechtse Heuvelrug







We decided to go to Driebergen-Rijsenburg in the Utrechtse Heuvelrug because its nearby. The Utrechtse Heuvelrug is a massive national park forest in Utrecht (in central Netherlands). It is in fact a conglomeration of forests, from small forests to bigger ones. We followed the sign to Het Grote Bos but ended up going into a much smaller forest—Mollebos.



Dutchman and I walked here for an hour. Because it was a relatively small forest, we ended up going around in circles. We’ll check out the other forest—Het Grote Bos next time.























Tea and apple tart at Het Wapen van Rijsenburg



Then it’s tea time!



The ‘Het Wapen van Rijsenburg’ restaurant is probably the best place to have lunch, tea and dinner in Driebergen-Rijsenburg. It’s location is quite strategic, right on the main street of the village with the view to the old church and the village boutique shops.



We indulged in some hot tea and apple tart from the house with whipped cream. Dutchman liked the apple tart while I thought it was a bit dry.

















A slow yet a very fulfilling and relaxing Sunday it was.



Visit Period: March

Destination: Driebergen-Rijsenburg (Utrechtse Heuvelrug – Utrecht), The Netherlands

Hermmann's Royal Lipizzan Stallions

This morning I made another trip over to see the incredible Lipizzaner stallions. I arrived early enough to visit the stable first and got to spend a good half an hour there. It is so neat to visit the stable and see the horses up close.



I found my personal favorite for today when I saw how much he seemed to enjoy interacting with people.



Then I noticed his name and realized he would fit in with our family really well because his name starts with an A. I told him that he could be one of my kids with a name like his.



He seemed really intrigued by that. I told him we could use another boy to even out the boy girl ratio.



I asked, would you like to go home with me big guy? At which point he nodded his head.



So it's all set. I just have to figure out how to fit him in the RV and then he's coming home with us.



Ahhh, a girl can dream at least, right? Isn't he something though? More pictures later of the show.



Living the life in sunny Florida!

Hill Training: My Epic Semi-Fail

Over the summer, one of our local bicycle clubs runs what's officially known as the (In)famous Wednesday Night Hill Ride: a loop "encompassing the gnarliest hills in the Boston Metro area." Of course the route does not belong to them and lots of local cyclists who want to cram some serious hills into a relatively short ride use it to train on their own time, particularly racers and randonneurs. Back in July Somervillain began riding this route with a small group as practice for the D2R2 and invited me to join. At the time the very notion was laughable. Me, on the Infamous Hill Route? The women's paceline rides were hilly enough for me, and those were described by the same bicycle club as "mostly flat" (ha!).



But definitions of "hills" are subjective. Fast forward a few months, and mine too had changed. Having gone on a handful of rides with some strong local cyclists, I even developed a new fondness for hills and no longer outright hated them. So when Somervillain suggested the two of us try the Hill Route before the snow arrived, it suddenly seemed like a great idea.What can I say? I am human, I got cocky.



Things started off innocently enough. My level of excitement was almost festive. Finally, I was going to do "real" hills, like the "real" roadies. I managed to get organised and dragged myself out of the house to meet Somervillain at an ungodly morning hour. The temperature was blessedly mild in the high 30s. The sun arose picturesquely over the local Dunkin Donuts parking lot as we convened in front of it on our trusty steeds: he on his '80s Trek racing bike, I on my Moser. It was going to be a great ride! A nice 30 mile ride with some hills in the middle. As we took off, I had a smile on my face (hint: it did not last).



Let me tell you about the Hill Training Route. The part with the proper hills is a 12 mile loop and the elevation profile looks like this. But no technical description or chart can communicate the subjective experience of this ride. The build-up was uninspiring, as we cycled along some ugly main roads with fast suburban traffic. After about 10 miles of that, we turned onto a narrow residential street and began the first climb up a small mountain. The climb began suddenly, and, being out of sight from the main road, there were no visual cues that allowed me to psychologically prepare for it. We turned the corner, and bang! - the very turn itself was already the beginning of a steep, twisty hill. The narrow road wound around the mountain instead of going directly up it, so there was no way to see what was around the bend. Would it get steeper or let up a bit? And how much longer to the top? Not knowing this drained my self-confidence and increased my anxiety tenfold. In addition, there were potholes the size of craters, and I had to zig-zag gingerly around them as I climbed.



My bicycle is geared fairly high (52x39t in the front and 12-26t in the rear), but still I did not expect to max out my gears quite so early on. Click-click-click! Click! And I was done. From that point onward there was no spinning, only pushing, and I still had most of the hill ahead of me. So I pushed on the pedals and heaved myself forward in jolts.



Promptly, my body began to rebel. A pain shot up straight to my right temple, so intense that it clouded my vision. I had a strong urge to throw up. My leg muscles felt as if someone was injecting them with acid. Somervillain was way up ahead of me and around the next bend. I felt intense shame at being so hopelessly terrible at this, even after all the rides I've done to build up to it. I did not see how I could possibly keep going at this rate, and only a stupid, primitive sense of pride kept me pushing. Thoughts such as "Do not stop the bike!" and "Like hell you're going to walk!" were the only things circulating in my otherwise empty mind.



At the top I felt nothing. No elation, no sense of accomplishment. Maybe some anger at my naivite ("You needed to do this, did you? Racers describe this ride as "infamous" and you decided this meant it was suitable for you?"), but otherwise nothing. I drank water and looked around blankly for Somervillain. Somehow I'd managed to lose him. Could he have taken a different side street to descend? I cycled around the maze of streets along the side of the mountain, climbing some smaller hills for no reason other than to keep warm. I was now shaking violently. Then it occurred to me that we both had phones. I phoned, he picked up immediately, we realised what had happened to separate us and agreed to meet back at the base of the hill. It was pretty apparent to me that I could not continue the ride, and he could hear it in my voice as well. I cycled down to meet him with my head hung low and my face a deep crimson.



I am not entirely sure how we ended up repeating the climb (yes, you read that correctly). I think it may have started out as a suggestion in jest. But long story short, we climbed the same hill again. Oddly it went easier the second time around, despite my utter sense of depletion. Maybe knowing what to expect made it easier. Once again I maxed out my gears and pushed myself up in jolts the whole way, but with a clearer sense of when to expect an end to the hellish ordeal. In the last stretch, my breaths were coming out in audible heaves: Hee! Haw! Not unlike the sound of a tortured donkey. And then again it was over. At the top we stopped in a parking lot behind a small, shabby water tower. I tried to eat a piece of an energy bar, but nearly threw it up. I did drink more water and kept that down. My hands were trembling. We agreed that we were done for now: descend carefully, then back to Somerville. Two difficult climbs was not so bad given my lack of experience.



Cycling home, we transitioned to the Minuteman Trail and enjoyed the glorious sunshine. We chatted casually about this and that and began to contemplate where would be the best place to stop for coffee.



And then I opened my mouth and said: "You know what? I am not tired anymore. This always happens, I begin to feel more energetic at the end of a ride."



And he said: "Oh yeah? Do you feel like going back and doing the last climb of the route then? We have time before I need to be at work."



And I said... Well, what could I say. I couldn't exactly back out of it at that point! So we rode to Arlington Heights for the last climb.



This climb was very different and I am so glad I did it. It was a big, open road that went straight up instead of winding, and I could see exactly how far it was to the top. It was a steep climb of about a mile and again I maxed out my gears fairly early on, but somehow it was just a more rewarding experience. This road had nice scenery and a more pleasant atmosphere; I just felt better riding there despite the same horrible pain in my legs and the same shortness of breath. Seeing that I had about a mile of this ahead of me, I somehow "settled into" the climb and relaxed. The entire time I was thinking "Oh my God, am I actually... enjoying this?" Somervillain was way ahead of me of course, so I had no illusions about my speed. When he stopped at the top and turned around to check how I was doing, I gave a thumbs up and smiled.



Upon reaching the top, I was delighted by the sight of a beautiful stone water tower surrounded by a small park. I had never been here before, and it's always nice to discover a new scenic spot. Suddenly, everything began to seem okay, even funny. It wasn't so bad. I really should have done the middle two climbs of the route instead of bailing so early on. To make me feel better, Somervillain pointed out that we'd really done more like 3 out of 4 climbs, since we did the first one twice. Plus we'd cycled 30 miles over all. Let's call it a modified route. After taking some pictures, we descended down a monstrous hill with a view of the Boston skyline, climbed another short but steep hill, and then cycled home for real with a quick coffee before parting ways.



On my way home I stopped by the Co-Habitant's office to say hello. He laughed and said I was incoherent, clearly still coming down from a post-cycling high ("and then... and then... there was a TOWER! And I almost gave up, but... tower!")



Sigh. I guess I should be grateful that even in my 30s I can enjoy the little things. I am pretty terrible at this roadcycling stuff, especially hills. But God, I love it anyway. We'll be doing this ride again. And thank you, Somervillain!

The Art of Exuberant Subtlety

Squinting in the harsh mid-day light and holding my breath, I rolled this rare machine I had been entrusted with across the grassy clearing.I leaned it against a tree. I arranged it amidst some flowers. Ipositioned it this way and that, in the sunshine and in shadow. With the camera to my eye, I crouched, I kneeled, I loomed, I stepped back. And yet, the bicycle refused to draw attention to itself. It was as if in his quest to achieve harmony - a harmony of proportion, colour and form - the builder had gone one step too far. So harmonious was this bicycle, so perfectly at home in these woods on this beautiful spring day, that it was in fact part of the scenery.






To appreciate a JP Weigle, one must appreciate this level of subtlety. There is no Weigle website. Just some flickr pictures, minimal publicity, word of mouth, and one of the longest wait lists in the business. Because tothose in the know, the builder's name is synonymous with randonneuring machines in the classic French tradition, made to the highest standards.Today this style of bike is not as rare - and, by extension, not as striking - as it was just a few years ago. There are fewer heated debates about its low trail geometry and 650B tires. There are also fewer oohs and aahs about its integrated fenders, racks, lighting, handlebar bags and other iconic features. But a Weigle machine is not so much about these things in themselves, as it is about how they are done. They say thatWeigle is the master of the thinned lug, of the French-curve fork blade, of the sculptural, minimalist front rack, of the near-invisible internal wiring,of the perfectly installed fenders. Hardly anyone uses the word "beautiful" to describe his work, although it is assumed. The words used are: meticulous, impeccable, flawless.It is by design that no part of a Weigle calls attention to itself.






In his ruralConnecticutworkshop, JP (Peter) Weigle has a presence that is as quietly compelling as one of his creations. Dressed in gray on gray and of serene disposition, he is easy to miss in a room full of colourful jerseys and animated conversation."But where is Peter?" visitors ask. Eventually he is spotted, in a corner, speaking in a muted yet impassioned tone as he points to some tiny detail on either his own frame or a vintage one in his custody. On my visit I was treated to a Jo Routens, stripped of paint, its brazed joints exposed to be studied. And beside it was the yet-unpainted bike I was trying to photograph now - nearly ready.






The future owner, Elton (second from the left), left the paint colour up to Peter, confident that whatever the builder chose would be right for the bike.






The racing green frame with nickel-plated fork blades and stays is a congruent combination of darks and lights, of matte and reflective surfaces.






The embellishments - such as the lug cutouts filled with tiny bursts of red and the golden box lining - are noticeable only on close inspection, but are so numerous and discreet that one could spend hours looking over the bike and still miss some.






The lugs are thinned out to such an extent, that they are almost flush with the tubes. It is difficult to get their intricate shorelines to show up on camera. No doubt it is to highlight this aspect of the construction that lug outlining has been omitted.






In addition to the frame and fork, Peter made the canti-mount front rack






which features a left-side light mount extension






and sits low and stable on the bike, the platform secured to the front fender.






He also made the rear rack,






which attaches both at the dropouts and at the canti bosses.






The custom cable hanger and tail light are also his own work, as is the reworked ("Special OH-HEC") pump - poorly pictured here, but lovely.






The internally routed dynamo-powered lighting was set up in collaboration with AT Électricalités - aka "Somervillain," who now moonlights as a bike electrician of renown skill. He explains how he set up the lighting step by step here. Examining the bike in person, the entry and exit points of the wiring are extremely difficult to spot even if you know where they are.






The rest of the build the owner put together himself. It included a Grand Bois stem and decaleur,






modern Rene Herse crankset,






Shimano Dura Ace rear derailleur and cassette,








9-speed Campagnolo ergo shifters,





vintage Mafac brakes






Handbuilt wheels around Pacenti rims, with a Chris King hub in the rear and a Schmidt SON dynamo hub in the front, and of course Grand Bois Hetre (extra leger!) 650Bx42mm tires,






Gilles Berthoud touring saddle,






Berthoud handlebar bag,






and long coverage Honjo fenders, which Peter Weigle installed using his own special method prior to Elton doing the rest of the build.





The elegant Nitto bottle cages are a nice complement to the build,






as are the two-tone Crankbrothers pedals and Wippermann chain.






Even after such a long description, there are many details I've missed. I need a clearer background and softer lighting to really do justice to it all. The curve of the brake bridge, the hidden lug cutouts, the pump peg, the delicate little braze-ons... this is a bike whose beauty "unfolds" the more closely you look at it. But standing there in a patch of woods, it makes you think about cycling rather than its own self. And Elton surely has plans to do some brevets on this beautiful machine this season. In the meantime he has been commuting on it to work.






Living in New England, I've been lucky enough to encounter a few Weigle bikes "in the wild" (for example, this one), made over the span of several decades. Like a number of other well known American builders, Peter Weigle got his start at Witcomb Cycles in London, UK in the early 1970s. And while today he is best known for his low trail randonneuring machines with 650B wheels, he did not begin working on such designs until 2005-2006. Before then there were Weigle racing bikes, mountain bikes, touring bikes - all showing the fashions of the times, yet also his distinct brand of elaborately subtle detail. I feel fortunate to have seen some of these bicycles and spoken to their owners.




Peter Weigle's small workshop in the woods is neat and tidy when visitors appear. The builder's friends tease that he never allows anyone to watch him work, his technique being top secret. Whatever the secret is, the results continue to entice bicycle lovers to dream of his machines, whether admiring them from afar or putting their names on the years-long wait list.