The best* bike for the biggest* mountain. Brompton FTW!

The following entry has only two purposes. The official one: to remind you which bike is the best in the world and the less official one: to position myself well, so that Brompton will finally appoint me as its world ambassador.

Even if I had to repeat the phrase "the best bike in the world" to boredom, buy its custom, off-road version, as well as the racing one for > 5k euros. And keep writing:Brompton' for the entry to pop up in Google. If you happen to meet Mr. Andrew Ritchie in the store, pretend that you are calling on the phone with the text "hey, have you recently read this great post about Bromptons for hopcycling?!"

-> Brompton <-

(supposedly, if there is a keyword in the header, it's good)

Because the story is that I have a very good connection from Warsaw to Amsterdam. As in many other places, with this bike, which I have written about here many times. I even wrote about my visit to Amsterdam before, although in a slightly different context. This time:

The end of a fascinating story, that should be enough for you as proof. However, I hear this scream in the distance, pointing out that maybe the bike is cool, but for a 20km journey from the airport to the hotel, but further on you have to be abnormal. There's probably some truth to that.

Let's start with the fact that in fact - to explore the city, I can't imagine a better means of transport. Maybe not everyone, because Brompton in Hong Kong wasn't the best idea Algarve all in all too.

The main advantage of moving on two wheels is that you will see places completely different than pedestrians. You probably know this from experience.

And believe me, there is no shortage of them in the Netherlands. Although the main memories that I usually bring back from this country are: cross-country mud, wind in the face, rain, infinitely boring landscape and even sterile order, it is a sensation on a global scale in terms of driving and its organization.

There is something magical about these random streets and random towns. Something that reminds me of an oasis of calm: Bornholm.

And just like the center of Amsterdam, although architecturally beautiful, is full of tourists, the smell of funny cookies and scandalous places, a dozen or so minutes away, there is another world.

Let's face it, no one comes to this blog to read about the fact that cycling is cool, or that the Netherlands is a cycling country.

So I wouldn't be myself if I didn't use appropriate comparisons here. Due to the fact that the blog has been dying a natural death lately, I will focus on the comparison with the previous entry, which concerned Rwanda and Uganda. Because these countries, ladies and gentlemen, have disturbingly much in common. I invite.

As you can see, most of the points agree, except for those unfortunate hills. This is a case for Detective Macia! A quick googling allowed me to locate the highest mountain in the country. It's Vaalserberg situated on 322.4 m, which is a good result, considering that the airport is located about 5 meters below zero. Of course, I pass over the fact that this highest point lies at the tripoint of the borders of the Netherlands, Germany and Belgium. It is worth noting that the Netherlands is divided into 12 provinces and the highest point of the remaining 11 is high at 110m Rozendaals.

I wouldn't be myself if I hadn't decided to spend my free weekend just to get there. This point, in turn, would not be itself if it had not decided to lie as far away from Amsterdam as possible. But is that an obstacle?

Wind is definitely not a helper here. When you plan a 2-3 day trip to the south, the wind blowing from this direction is not an ally. So it would make sense to get there by train and back by bike, but it sounded wrong in my head. The question "why" appeared many more times during the next 400km.

There is something wonderful and scary about driving around the Netherlands. I have not yet been in this country so as not to get wet and not to be blown through. It is so wonderfully boring, safe and idyllic that after several hours of driving you start dreaming about some traffic, billboards, buildings that don't match and Żabka. Of course, only until he comes back to them. The compensation is countless cows, horses and sheep.

And of course, these completely unexpected towns that look like a model in Hollywood.

On this day I drive 136 km. The result does not sound impressive, but the whole thing is going in one direction, so thanks to the favorable wind hitting me in the face, my speed sometimes drops to indecent values, bordering on autopause. And let me remind you that we are talking about a total ascent of about 250 meters. However, the rain coming all the time from the horizon motivates us to not stop.

If something is difficult in the Netherlands, it is finding cheap accommodation. By "cheap" I mean any non-hostel room for less than PLN 1,000 per night. I don't know if anywhere, ever, was as expensive as there. Being away from the capital doesn't make things much easier, but I manage to find something for 110 euros a piece outside Eindhoven.

The plan was to spend the night in Belgium to escape this disgustingly expensive place, but it turns out that Belgians close shops at least an hour earlier. This is the hour that makes me come to Lidl exactly at closing time using all the watts available in my legs, or go to bed hungry, which does not bode well for the next day. Well it happened though, because about 10 minutes after checking in Boutique Hotel de Valk (PLN 470) in Valkenswaard, it was raining and I was already wet for shopping.

I mean good, from my perspective, not necessarily the lady from the reception. Because only some miracle wanted that I made the reservation at 18:57, and on the booking site there was a sign that check-in only until 19:00. I was at the hotel at 19:15 and met the receptionist already leaving work. She wasn't particularly happy because, as a non-work leader, she hadn't checked her e-mail in the last minutes before leaving her position. She sadly confirmed that I had actually booked well and the day was saved because there were no alternatives. Especially at the moment before dusk and downpour.

In the category "the most beautiful hotel views through the window during bikepacking" I give this place a strong 10/10. Is there anything better than a glowing Lidl logo? I don't think so. And certainly not that day. However, the receptionist's curse did not leave me, because I bought 4 salads, 2 yoghurts and a few other goodies, and it turned out that I had no cutlery.

The next day I enter Belgium. It's not particularly different. Maybe a bit more cyclists, because I am approaching the region where Liege-Bastogne-Liege takes place the day after, and the Amstel Gold Race was in the area a week earlier. Then I remember that I was already in Valkenburg for the World Championships in CX and it will be funny to hit this place. Mainly because I will drive up the famous Col du Cauberg - the legendary driveway, 134 meters high.

On the way to it, I don't pass many attractions. Maybe apart from the fact that I cross the Dutch-Belgian border by ferry. Some windmills, some animals, a lot of riding along water canals, where people on time trials rush, because it's Saturday morning. As for the Cauberg itself, well, the only thing this climb reveals is the number of cyclists proud to reach the top. In non-racing conditions, this is not a special feat, I would rate it at about 2 Agricole. And maybe asphalt painted in "King Mathieu".

I start my senseless calculations, because it turns out that the famous peak-of-peaks will fall out somehow at the hundredth kilometer. Theoretically, I could then drive 30km to Maastricht and return by train, but what will I do with the saved time? It also hurts me that it will mean that the whole route was going against the wind - 15 hours of pedaling with the wind in the mouth. I decide to be good to myself and reward myself by returning with the wind. However, I'm almost sure that I missed the tripoint of the borders ... or the tourists blocked it for me. I managed to hang around the tower, which I assumed was at the top. You can be tempted to say that there were even some views around.

Maybe not very impressive on the scale of this blog, but on the scale of the Netherlands it is. Fota and without much plan I start my journey north. The wind, to my surprise, does not reverse direction (or even turn, more importantly) and actually blows in the back. It's starting to rain. Then it ends and starts again. This situation lasts for a few hours to finally rain about 10 minutes before I reach the accommodation. So I start my visit to the apartment by pouring the water out of my shoes and wringing my clothes.

And as you can probably guess, the accommodation situation is not easy, especially when you are such a bulbous as me. So I turn a bit to the east (thanks to which the wind stops blowing at my back) and land in the German countryside, where I pay PLN 294 for a luxury apartment with a kitchen in Niederkrüchten: Hotel-Pension Haus Andrea, which is 3 times less than across the border 20 km away. I finish the day with just over 170 kilometers on the odometer, which, considering the rather harsh weather conditions and, after all, some hills, is quite a feat for my legs.

The world punishes me again for visiting Lidl, because it turns out that the Germans do not have baskets to carry, and I rush in without a stroller. It's already late enough that no one enters the store, so I can't even go back. So I do my shopping in a cardboard box, which then I have nowhere to throw away, so I carry it with me a few kilometers by bike. Beautiful country.

On Sunday, on a scale from 1 to 10, I want to go to a 0. However, I have no choice, because I have a flight from Schiphol airport around 7 pm, and I am in the German countryside near Dusseldorf. Google Maps says that I have so many transfers there by public transport that I might as well go straight to Warsaw. So I check in which direction the wind is blowing and together with it I go to the nearest large town, which is Nijmegen. Brompton looks at me sadly because it's mostly mud, even though we showered together.

There is a slight distortion here, because it was certainly possible to return sensibly by counting one more change in some Dutch village, but Nijmegen has a special place in my heart, especially its station. Because I once spent many sad hours on it during a trip to the "International Conference of Young Scientists" (true story), waiting for someone to pick me up. It turned out then that a larger delegation from Poland arrives 6 hours later and nice Dutch people decided to pick us up as a group, but they didn't warn us about it. I compensated by discovering that people come to the conference to present their discoveries, not listen to lectures. Never in my life have we ever learned such a difficult subject so quickly. To put it mildly, our presentation on neural networks had something of theft, something of plagiarism and something of "there is no night when you can't come up with something great".

I reach Nijmegen after about 80 kilometers and for reasons unknown to anyone (apart from me and my fear of wasting time) I get off at Amsterdam Central. The idea to spend the last hours before departure around the city seemed good, until 3km to the destination it was raining and it didn't want to stop. At the airport I found myself soaking wet. In retrospect, it's still a good result, because I managed to catch the plane and I'll be back home.

At the airport, I meet my colleagues from the trip, who tell each other which galleries they visited, what works they saw and what interesting things they did. Me when asked "what have you been doing for the last 2.5 days?" all that remained was to answer: "I drove up the highest hill in the country."

I can see the dialogue from "Day of the Wacko" in front of my eyes:

- What happened?
"I got stuck in the box
“Yeah, fuck you