This afternoon I regaled a coworker with stories behind my slew of Amsterdam photos, which made me realize I’ve neglected to post one of the best parts of my trip on the blog! So here it is: a bike ride from Amsterdam to Ouderkerk aan de Amstel, a village south of the city.
The weather had been a little erratic, but the last day brought sunshine and clouds with a little haze—just the weather I’d been waiting for. So, starting out from my Airbnb digs near the Jordaan, I gingerly skirted along Nassaukade, sweating at the stoplights, hoping I was in the right lane before pedaling madly after bicyclists who looked like they actually knew what they were doing. Stopped by a MacBike for an Amstel-Windmill Bicycle Tour map (security blanket!) before heading to the Amsteldijk bikeway, which follows the river the entire way. Once on the city outskirts, I began to breathe a little easier. (I’m still a country girl at heart.)
This scenery inspired Rembrandt, who would head to this same countryside on weekends to work on his landscapes. Along the river, next to a windmill, there’s a statue of the master down on one knee, his sketchbook propped up on the other.
I’ve come to realize that the older I get, the more of a luxury time becomes. On this particular day I had nowhere to be, so I could ride as slowly as I liked and stop whenever I wanted. Bliss.
The river’s bike path is flat as flat, and on this day there was hardly another soul on the road. After reaching and then tooling around Ouderkerk for a bit, I biked up the other side of the river before turning around to go back the way I came—about 13 km./8 mi. each way.
I paused midpath to snap this shot of river reeds framing a single sculler rowing past the windmill where Rembrandt’s statue is. Makes me wish I could experience the feel of being on that water.
My trusty, rusty steed. It’s the kind of junky Old Reliable that I understand Amsterdammers keep, to get them around town and not get stolen. Still, who’s taking chances?
The Dutch don’t mess around with their locks. There was an industrial-strength chain-link one to secure the bike to any immovable object, plus a second key-operated clamp over the rear tire.
On my way home, I nearly blew right past these solitary benches, then decided to stop for a breather and just read and write for a bit. The breeze rustled through the grasses and occasionally boats would motor by, their owners sunning on lawn chairs set up on the deck. A few ducky friends paddled over, bobbing in the boats’ wake, expecting to be fed.