Rotterdam to Antwerp

As the bike paths turned to designated areas in roads and the flat plains began to have a distinct curve to them I knew my time in the Netherlands was coming to an end. No longer was my path guided by colorful rivers nor the crimson bike paths that I had been accustomed to. Instead a mixture of pastures and forests guided my way to Belgium’s second largest city.

On my way however, I made a special stop in my fathers birth town: Dordrecht. It was hard not to attempt to picture this picturesque city over 50 years ago as a young grad student and his wife held the hands of a small child who would later become my father. A sense of familiarity and almost a nostalgic warmth wafted over me as I biked throughout Dordrecht, a town I had never seen before. As I visited the church in which my grandfather had preached, I couldn’t help to think that some of the elderly people who walked passed me may have known my grandparents and maybe even my father. It’s a long shot, but I’d like to think that many of them were their friends.

Now I could continue to describe to you in detail the beauty of the ride I went on. I’d most likely use metaphors and other literary devices to make it sound poetic, but I feel like I’ve been doing that a lot recently so instead I’m going to tell you about how, after more than 18 years on this earth, I finally learned how to bike. Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve “known” how to bike for a very long time. I grew up biking around and I’ve biked in Europe before, but never have I had to bike for four or five hours at a time. My style of biking previously was to just go as fast as I can: I raced against myself, against my brother, and even against google maps. I raced everywhere and every time somebody passed me I’d bike even harder. That doesn’t work for the distances I’m traveling. I began many of my trips peddling hard, glancing down at my eta every other minute to see if it had changed, and after about half an hour my legs would begin to stiffen. After about an hour fatigue would start to kick in and then everything started to devolve from there. It was especially bad in the Netherlands for you see, as I have said many times before, the Netherland’s are made for biking and everyone knows that. Professional bikers know that. So, many people who compete in biking races are biking the same paths I biked on and when one attempts to race with a professional biker who doesn’t have an extra 30lbs of luggage and who actually knows how to pace themselves things start to disintegrate, quickly.

What I learned on my trip from Rotterdam to Antwerp is that biking is all about moderation. Pushing yourself is necessary, as it is in every aspect of live. Push to hard however, and you may just shove yourself into the ground. Sure you’ll move farther, but while you’re getting up the guy who’s being pushed is already past you. During my ride I decided not to race against the clock, not to compete against the professionals, and to simply push myself, wary of the junction of the trip I was at. I ended up cutting down my time by about half an hour. This is a perfect metaphor for life. When your in the long haul, whether it’s a relationship, a job, school, etc., don’t shove yourself, stay constant, and then when the time is right push harder. That’s how endurance is built.