Weesp to Edam

No matter how I try, I butcher the Dutch language. Some words are pretty much the same as German as are several pronunciation rules for certain letters. I can get by in German for simple exchanges. But somehow, when I’m doing something as rudimentary as ordering a beer here, I’m met with perplexed looks and in isolated cases (today), am served the wrong beverage. I ordered a Van Het Moment Saison – and was careful to pronounce the “v” with the “f” sound that is characteristic of German (and, I thought, also Dutch), but instead the bar tender delivered a Dubble of some sort. At least it was still a beer.

A similar snafu occurred in Italy a couple of years ago when I attempted to order  two Proseccos and got two (shitty) beers instead. It’s also reminiscent of the “balsamico” incident – also in Italy – in which I requested, in what I believed was perfect Italian – balsamic vinegar to go with my panini. Nobody in the entire restaurant could interpret my request. I was brought everything from extra napkins to sparkling water to a knife. Five minutes later, a light bulb switched on with one of the servers, who yelled out, “AAAH, BAL-SA-MEE-KOH!” It sounded to me like a precise replica of the word I’d said 40 times. The man finally produced the coveted item.

The big difference here is that Dutch people on the whole speak English IMPECABBLY.

We pedaled out of Weesp (“Veysp”) today after a surprisingly ample breakfast buffet – surprising because it seemed that NOBODY at our Hotel (Hart Van Weesp) really seemed to care about acting remotely hospitable. I went down in the evening to get a corkscrew and spent five minutes pacing at the front desk craning my neck in attempt to see anyone behind the door as a group of people in the lobby eyed me over their shoulders until finally one of them – the front desk attendant – begrudgingly got out of her chair to find out what I wanted.

As we walked into the breakfast room this morning I said good morning to the hotel staff representative and she met my greeting with a cold glare and said nothing. She then proceeded to slam plates down right behind us as the hotel dog begged at our table. M was obviously not pleased about this but I couldn’t help but find it hilarious. For whatever reason, her hatred of dogs somehow morphs into a warm, inviting aura in canine vibes. 

We skirted the industrial side of Amsterdam before plunging into the lake and bog district that lines the northern coast at the bay of Markermeer. At one point, we were riding over a spit of land measuring about 20 feet across, containing a narrow road and a raised grassy knoll with a skinny path on which we rode. It was sunny as we left Weesp but black clouds loomed. It rained hard a couple of times, but only for a few minutes. Rain is not so bad on a bike tour when one has waterproof clothing. We pulled over and squirmed into our rain pants and jackets the minute the first drops started falling. Oddly, the Dutch appear to be bionic, freeze-immune life forms who ride around without gloves or proper jackets … we even saw a couple cyclists in shorts.

Lunch in the cute fishing village of Marken was pleasant, then we put our bikes on the ferry to Volendam – another adorable village a few kilometers from Amsterdam, but more overrun by tourists than others we've visited.

We then rolled into our current town of Edam, home of the cheese bearing the same name. It is, of course, like a fairy tale again, with picturesque canals running through it, over which are a few narrow white draw bridges operated by hand (for when the pirate-looking sailboats float through). Besides the people working at our hotel (we're calling them grumpfish), everyone seems very friendly here. We bought some gifts, had a gelato during the five minutes of late afternoon sun which was quickly replaced by clouds and a frigid, wet breeze. We opted for pizza for dinner at La Galera. The man we spoke to upon entering (who turned out to be one of only three or four highly industrious employees running all over the place all night) informed us that the place was booked but he’d check the bar next door (same owners) for a table. Happily, we got one and although it didn’t have quite the elegant atmosphere, it was cozy with a candle on every table and not another tourist in sight.

We haven’t seen many windmills so far – besides a pair of enormous metal structures functioning for wind farming. They didn’t fit the bill of the quintessentially Dutch wooden contraptions you see on your grandma’s blue and white plates. That should change tomorrow when we ride to Haarlem. It’s also King’s Day – one of the biggest holidays in Holland. We’re told there should be a lot of orange clothing (we have none. Is orange anyone’s color?) and partying …  

Wild Hares in Holland

We got lucky with the weather today, after a series of pounding rain storms in the morning, seen out the window of our tiny hotel room with the ladder-like staircases that appear to be characteristic of The Netherlands. It was striking to climb such a thing when entering the Secret Annex at the Anne Frank House, but they’re honestly everywhere. We are riding the heaviest, slowest bikes ever designed (they seem more fit for a city bike share program, used by people traveling no more than six miles max) and with the prevailing winds of North Holland (somehow always in our faces), it was a challenge. That said, the agricultural countryside here is beautiful, full of cows, sheep, ponies, swans and  … wild hares. Yes, at first we mistook them for medium-sized, lightning fast dogs chasing each other like predator and prey through the vibrant green farm country. They resembled cheetahs as they launched over the canals in flying leaps, never breaking stride.

Although the forecast called for intermittent thundershowers all day and the woman at our hotel warned us to keep an eye on the sky and be prepared to take shelter, we only encountered a couple of brief storms, including a couple of five-minute bouts of hail pelt. Then, of course was five hours of 50 mph headwind. But at least the place is flat. We pedaled through Laren, a small, posh, ancient town where everything is made from 1,000-year-old red brick. Our lunch timing was impeccable as we entered a place called Eemland just as the torrential hailstorm started, had beer (saison), tomato soup and shared a cheese sandwich. The afternoon tour took us through numerous pastures, along the water to thef north, passed Muiderslot Castle, along the Naaren Fortress walls lining the canals and into Weesp, a beautiful canal-strewn village marked by an unfinished bastion, windmills and sailboats that look like they belong to upscale pirates. As was our tradition every day of our bike trips in Italy, we hit the wine shop the second we arrived into town and complemented it by a visit to the cheese shop next door (Bordeaux, dutch brie, weird but delicious spicy rice crackers and chocolate-covered peanuts). Yeah, it’s easy to pig out in Europe after a five-hour bike ride. Not that it stopped us from ordering a waffle with hot cherries and ice cream (top five desserts of all time) later in the evening …

Red Light in the a.m.

Since we weren’t in the Red Light long enough yesterday to so much catch a glimpse of the neighborhood’s telltale landmark (live hookers in storefronts), we decided to make a pass through the area on our way to the train station. Sure enough, even at 11 a.m. there were several ladies (all heavy set, dark-haired and dark-skinned) as well as a few windows sporting the closed curtain that signifies that the room is in use. It seemed like pretty cramped office space - approximately 100 square feet of space behind the glass door where a single bed could be seen, a sink (in one, the tenant was brushing her teeth) and in another, there was a stool occupied by a really cracked out-looking woman who looked about 65 (but it could have just been the effects of hard drugs), plopped down in a distinctly unsexy position with eyes cast into a half-lidded, thousand yard stare. Dragging our suitcases loudly over the cobblestones, we caught all this through sidelong glances as we walked by like the other passing tourists who were pretending not to look.

Then it was onto Utrecht, another beautiful, canal-crossed city (the fourth largest in The Netherlands), where we had lunch before catching a second train to Amersfoort, where our bike tour begins tomorrow. Our hotel is rather provincial – but friendly –and the old town center is around the corner, entered under a  medieval brick gate house and archway.  Inexplicably, everything is closed here on Mondays save a few restaurants, one of which was poppin’ with a big crowd of locals. This was our spot, bearing yet another name we couldn’t pronounce with an odd but ever-present “j” following every vowel. I got a prawn appetizer and seafood soup with saffron and M got a massive burger. Everything had too much sauce but the beer was tasty. It’s pouring rain now, hopefully bleeding the sky as much as possible before we hit the road tomorrow.

Going Dutch

When the first scene to fall across my visual field is a sea of bicycles lazing against each other along historic, tree-lined canals as others shoot by in ones, twos and twelves carrying passengers of every age, race, size and shape – including one to three on a single bike – naturally, Amsterdam has won an immediate spot on my A list.

The first full day of our inaugural visit to Holland was spent covering 10-plus miles on foot (not two wheels … that starts Tuesday in the ancient Dutch town of Amersfoort). We hoofed through the hip de Hallen neighborhood where we are staying (home to the delightful Foodhallen, where we have now spent two evenings sampling various international fare in the upscale warehouse of restaurant stalls and bars), skirted the Red Light District briefly (not much debauchery afoot at 10 a.m. on a Sunday) into the Nine Streets, Old Town, the Flower Market, Resistance Museum, Windmill Brewery, Anne Frank House and back home through the high-end, immaculate cobblestone streets of Jordaan.

Surprisingly affordable (we were expecting Switzerland-scale prices but they’re happily more German range), friendly and artistic …  we might just spend another day here.  

Gotta watch out for those bikes, though.

Five reasons to check out FoCo

As a Colorado State University alumni, Fort Collins has had a special place in my heart for a while. It’s where my punk band made its “big stage” debut at the sadly now-defunct but always iconic Starlight, it’s where I discovered craft beer much sooner than the rest of the world and where I frequently indulged in the day-long gut bomb that is Big City Burrito.

A recent visit, however, brought on the realization that not only is FoCo (yeah … it’s even got a cool name, now) a nostalgic, let’s even say sacred place to me, but it has become one of America’s raddest towns. This has nothing to do with the influx of hipsters that have landed there in recent years, but more with …

Lots and lots of really good beer

New Belgium and Odell Brewing are obvious pioneers in taking suds to a higher level. During my college days, ___ years ago, they were pretty much the only gigs in town. They were called “microbreweries” back then (is that even still a word?). Now the entire northeastern edge of town is stacked with craft breweries. Horse & Dragon has one of the best stouts in the world – Sad Panda and Fort Collins Brewery boasts a sprawling, delightfully social indoor space. Still, nothing beats the patio scene at Odell on a sunny afternoon and New Belgium offers what is arguably the most interesting and engaging (not to mention drunken)brewery tour you’ll ever experience. It ends with a trip down the twisty slide … super fun after four free pints.

Cruiser bike pelotons

Well, this does have something to do with hipsters, since the clog of people that spends weekend afternoons pedaling between breweries is comprised of a fair number of long-bearded bros with a leashed dog in hand (bad idea, man!). But as long as you can skirt around the gapers, there’s no better way to get around the Fort than on two wheels. If you don’t bring your own bike along, there’s also a wonderfully cheap new bike share program. Seriously, the scene is like a bike parade. The peloton is out in force all the time.

Foodie extravaganza

As mentioned, Big City Burrito is still around, run as always by hippies and fantastic for a casual “bite” that doubles as semi-monstrous weight for bicep curls. There’s also Coopersmiths, a long-standing brew pub specializing in scrumptious sandwiches and burgers. But now, Fort Collins has finally capitalized on its agricultural offerings and given new meaning to farm-to-table freshness. The farms are two miles (to 30) away, so the locally sourced meat, cheese and produce doesn’t get much fresher. This rings especially true for newish small chains like The Kitchen, a fine-dining joint that also has locations in Boulder and Denver and is pretty much the standout date stop for a fancy dinner of fresh comfort food. Breakfast has always kicked ass in Fort Collins with mainstays like Lucille’s, home of the world’s most bomber biscuits and Avogadro’s Number , with its messy plates of eggs and avocado. Snooze, with its yummy a.m. cocktails and pancake flights also has an Old Town location now. Situated off the main drag, Foco’s best new dining digs is Jessup Farm. Although it’s off the beaten path, the converted old farmhouse has an awesome patio with amazing views, scrumptious snacks (housemade hummus or goat cheese, anyone?), lots of vegetarian options (lentil pot pie!), a good beer selection and creative cocktails. It’s worth the trip.

Rockin’ music scene

In addition to my band (we were called Last to Know and are now erased from existence, not discoverable in any modern capacity) FoCo has long since boasted a flourishing punk scene, producing acts like All and Armchair Martian. Now it is home to immeasurable talent of all genres, much of which can be sampled at FREE festivals like Bohemian Nights, outside in Old Town every summer and the upcoming FocoMX, which infiltrates local bars and breweries with two days of high-energy, nonstop live tunes.

Outdoor recreation

Some of us don’t really get our fresh air fix with a five-minute slow pedal to the next pint, so good thing there are places like Horsetooth Reservoir, best reached via a 7-mile, 5,000-foot uphill slog from town on skinny tires and a scenic starting point for numerous hikes, mountain bike rides or a waterside picnic. Go a little farther up the Poudre Canyon (GREAT for tubing but not in the spring when the water is raging) and the pine treed Eden of Lory State Park awaits.

So yeah. FoCo, bro.

So much to appreciate about Tegan and Sara … As evidenced by people awkwardly throwing money at them in Denver

The first emotion upon seeing Tegan and Sara take the stage for maybe the seventh or eight time throughout their lengthy career – clad in white skinny jeans, baggy t-shirts and Geisha-like hairstyles – was a flash of disappointment noticing that there were no guitars in sight. There were instead Macbook Pros and synthesizers firing from every corner and a band unrecognizable from the backing musicians that had accompanied the sisters over the previous decade. Kicking off with “Back in Your Head,” from 2007’s earth-shattering The Con, the already keyboard-heavy verses were amplified by smooth, commercial-style electronics. But the choice of opening number was promising for those of us hoping, in spite of the more recent sound and style overhaul, for classic T & S.

The announcement that they would play “a lot of older songs” offered further assurance, although they then launched into a tour through their newer pop sound, highlighting the two most recent releases (I Love You to Death and Heartthrob) with a couple of reminders – “Alligator” and a delightfully lightening-paced version of “North Shore”  -- of Sainthood, the 2009 record that marked the duo’s not-so-gradual circumnavigation into the world of synthpop. Then came an EDMed-up version of “Walking with a Ghost” and the unequivocal highlight of the evening … an acoustic, almost tribute-style side set from The Con during which the rest of the band exited the stage and the twins belted out single acoustic guitar renditions of the “The Con,” “Call it Off” and “Nineteen" before the band re-entered for an amped up delivery of “I was Married.”

Tegan, who has historically been the more extroverted member of the duo, made constant eye contact with the audience and generally MCed the whole performance, stepping onto the front ledge of the stage to touch hands with the reaching and trembling front three rows.

At one point, after an obtuse reference to stripping, the crowd began throwing cash. Although the twins played along gracefully, promising to match the earnings with a donation to a local LGBT organization, it felt more than a little awkward as the two collected crumpled bills from around the stage. Happily, the banter between them, as always, was amusing and fresh and although Tegan carried most of the commentary while Sara bashfully turned her head into the mic and avoided any semblance of a full face down with the crowd even while taking front stage during her songs, made her input count as the set neared its close. She expressed gratitude to the Denver audience – to those who threw cash as well as those who shared “joy” (and also cash for buying a ticket), but also acknowledged, in an ever-so-amiable manner, that “it’s possible that a lot of you are gigantic dicks.” Honestly, how can you not love them?

Any long-time fan has got to admit that although Tegan and Sara have undergone what they themselves refer to as a “wardrobe change,” they are still amazingly talented. This was proven in the vulnerably acoustic rendering of “Now I’m All Messed Up” and in their inaugural performance of “I’m Dying to Know.” It’s easy to speculate that an artist, not just Tegan and Sara, produces their best work while in the throes of emotional turmoil. T & S introduced The Con, which certainly fits into this category, by explaining that the songs never get tiresome to play even while dredging up painful memories. They then dedicated these tunes to everyone in the audience who “has had your heart trampled on.”

One gets the impression with the pop makeover that perhaps the twins are aiming for a stadium level of stardom. As much as they deserve every ounce of popularity and success that comes their way, we selfish long-time fans can only hope that they remain who they are, that they continue to close their live sets with classic (albeit in this case completely digitized) tunes like “Living Room.” We’ll cross our fingers that we can always get close enough to the stage to maybe not throw dollar bills, but at least make out the pair’s sincere expressions of gratitude and banter. They may be more content than they have been in the past, make more polished pop that doesn’t abound from stinging breakups or loss. They may have ended up with someone who is everything they wanted. But they still know how to make us all happy, old and new fans alike.

The most awesome way to wrap up the ski season ...

We got the huge April storm ... now put your legs to the real test

This is it, the ski season is rolling to a close and you’re suddenly, frantically wondering how you’re going to wrap it up with a bang. Just as important, how the hell are you going to whip your chairlift-shaped arse into summer cardio shape?

First of all, try working your way UP the slopes in order to earn your turns down. 

Try doing it after chugging up to the base of the mountain on your bike. It’s one of the hardest – and most awesome – things you’ll ever do.

The first time I signed up for the Imperial Challenge, I came into it pretty much straight off the couch. To be clear, I was not a full-fledged couch potato. I was a new Breckenridge local, having just moved into town from Denver. By the time April rolled around, I had done my share of snowboarding, but besides a couple of easy snowshoe hikes, Nordic jaunts on the bike path and adrenaline-charging drops off of cornices, I hadn’t done much to get my heart rate up. I was lamenting the rapidly approaching end of the season and panicking that I’d soon be slogging up single track in pursuit of my perennially bionic, Breck-based mountain biking friends.

That’s when I heard about the Imperial Challenge, the one-of-a-kind, Breckenridge-specific race that, if completed – or even attempted – would pretty much seal my status as a bona fide local.

Here’s how it works: 

You drop your winter gear – boots, skis, skins, snowshoes or boards –  at the base of Peak 8 on the morning of the race (April 23). The Heavy Metal Rec Open categories (me) start at 9:15 a.m. while the hardcore competitors start at 10 a.m. The race begins in town outside of the Breck Rec Center. You can either run or bike the 6.2 miles up to the base of Peak 8. The route is mostly dirt, so a mountain or cross bike work best, but if you feel confident that the road will be dry (watch the forecast!), a road bike works, too. If you want to channel the Imperial Challengers from the days of yore, you can enter the Retro Category and pedal with all of your gear in tow. Yep. People do this.

When you reach the base area, you ditch your bike (free security provided) and begin the trek up the slopes. Your destination? The tippy top of Peak 8 – about 3,000 vertical feet up, up, up. The options are hiking with AT, telemark skis or split boards or snowshoeing with a board on your back. The first time I did the Challenge, I did the latter (probably the slowest and heaviest, but I was out to finish … not to win). From the top of Peak 8, the last leg of the Challenge is a glorious downhill ski or ride to the finish line, back to the Peak 8 base – guaranteed to be the most satisfying turns of your life no matter the snow conditions.

The slog to the top took me about three hours. The badass men who win normally finish the whole thing in less than an hour and 20 minutes and the badass women in less than 1:40:00. Sick … I know. 

That first Imperial Challenge damn near killed me. I’m sorry that I don’t have the actual photo from the race (I buried it along with my naked baby pictures), but it shows me bent in a 90-degree angle over the single ski pole that a good Samaritan handed off about halfway up. The connection and sense of camaraderie with fellow racers is one of the best parts of the experience. Besides the hardcore that blow passed you, there are plenty of weekend warriors, fit teenagers, other recovering couch potatoes and even a few rugged 70-year-olds to bond with on the way up. Oh yeah. And there's a blowout party afterward. 

I can’t wait to close out the season with another heart stopper. The 2016 Imperial Challenge happens April 23 in Breckenridge. Do yourself a favor and sign up.

*Photo by climbbetty.com