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Beautiful Daughter is now big enough that she doesn’t need a baby seat to travel in the Bakfiets, which means we can carry other things besides the resident small person, and we can go on a ride without Daddy mucking about with a rope for ten minutes to make sure the child seat is properly secured, the Japanese makers having neglected to make it compatible with a Bakfiets for some reason.
The Small One also approves because in her new sitting position she can see what is happening, instead of watching her dad pedaling away. From her point of view, this is a definite improvement.
Once again, I am aiming for a niche audience here.
A while ago, the boys managed to break Youngest Son’s bed, which caused much consternation at the time, but I did finally manage to make a new side piece to replace the one that was broken. Because the bed uses mortise and tenon Joins, I had to transport the rest of the bed about five hundred metres up to the workshop during this process to fit the new section to the existing joins, then haul the lot down to the apartment.
As usual I spent some time massively over-thinking things before realising that all I needed was climbing ropes, blankets and wood clamps. The whole operation went pretty smoothly, so smoothly on fact that I forgot all about it until last night when I found the picture while desperately seeking a blog subject at the end of a quiet week…
Bakfiets being a skip for the day. One of the jobs I’d been planning to do for some time was clearing out the cellar, in particular the smaller sized bikes which are lurking in every corner. Of course the appearance of Beautiful Daughter means the bikes need to remain in place for a while longer; not that I’m complaining, I hasten to add.
There’s still plenty of other stuff down there of course because as we all know cellars are breeding grounds for random and miscellaneous things with no obvious purpose, so last week I made a start on shifting some of the more obviously useless things like a broken bike frame and two large bags full of papers which have been there so long they may well be considered historical artifacts.
Expatriate life is full of glamour.
In what seems to be becoming an annual event, the Bakfiets was a Fair Trade chocolate shop again over the weekend for a local festival. The people organising asked for a copy of this picture, which I sent them, thinking it would just go on the website.
Later someone recognised the bike from the local newspaper, which was a surprise.
I know there’s a school of thought that there’s no such thing as bad publicity, but… most of the local readers are also local drivers, and if the reactions I sometimes get out on the road are anything to go by, then they may have pushed some customers away…
Riding the Bakfiets to the local metro station to pick up the boys* I noticed a cyclist coming towards in full lycra with helmet riding an ancient and rather dusty bike. Nothing unusual there: this time of year the routes over the fields fill with luridly clad riders on bikes which look like they’ve been in a cellar for the last twelve months.
What was odd was that I could hear a tinny voice coming from a large plastic object on his handlebars. I thought this was a cell phone using the hands free facility until he came closer and I realised it was a radio, fastened onto the handlebars and blaring out 80’s hits from the local station.
The end is nigh, I tell you…
And speaking of abominations being where they should not be, my computer seems to have picked up some adware called cheapo-o, which I can’t get rid of. I’ve shut down the add-on but according to several websites there’s still spyware lurking on the hard drive. Of course they all want me to download another programme to get rid of same, but as that’s apparently what caused the problem in the first place I’m not touching them. Can anyone recommend a safe way to remove this rubbish?
*It is downhill coming back: I’m nice but not that nice…
We decided it was time for Beautiful Daughter to come on a bike ride with us. This caused much head scratching while I focused the remaining operable brain cells on a way to keep her baby seat from wobbling about in the Bakfiets.
After massively over thinking things and sketching out wooden frames and other ideas, I remembered that the simplest solution is the best, and that we had a 200kg rated climbing rope that would work just fine. As long as I could still tie knots.
About ten minutes later I had the seat tied down. unfortunately I’d also carefully tied the rope around the steering rod that runs under the bike. This meant that I could ride perfectly well as long as I didn’t have to turn any corners.
With some colorful language, another five minutes untying and retying the rope, and a total expenditure of €0,00 later we had this result. It is remarkable how the seat for smallest member of the family requires almost the entire Bakfiets.
When we go out as a family these days, people notice. Here is the mothership with the satellites waiting outside the shops. The boys often lock their bike to the Bakfiets as it is heavier than the cheap cycle stands provided. The roof was to keep the wind out rather than any rain.
Beautiful daughter was a somewhat bemused at first, and gave the bakfiets a thorough inspection. Her brothers helped her to relax by by riding alongside and pulling faces. Inbetween she played with her cuddly toys before settling off to sleep.
In flight entertainment was provided. She found the sight of Papa puffing up the hill more entertaining.
So last night I was riding the Bakfiets along the main road in the village, in the dark, and noticed I was being followed by something with a lot more lights than I had. Looking back this turned out to be a Big Black Truck.
About a thousand trucks drive through the village every day, which causes much harrumphing from the locals while they wait to pull out from side streets in their 4 x 4’s. This one had just squeezed around the sharp corner at the top of the hill and was rolling about fifty metres behind my back wheel. I looked again to signal for a left turn, to find it was still there, but noted with surprise that he was hanging well back, giving me space and allowing himself a generous braking distance. Gratified that he was doing his best not to glue me to his massive bull bars, I signalled, pulled across the road and waved to acknowledge that I had seen the fifty tonnes of black and chrome just behind me. I was rewarded by a short flash of headlights with enough candlepower to safely guide ships, which projected my shadow on the buildings opposite.
It being rather late, there was no traffic in the opposite direction, so I could pull into our street easily enough. I stopped to wave again and got a quick honk on the horn and a wave from the shadowy figure in the cab as the behemoth rumbled out of the village into the darkness.
Why can’t it be like this more often?
(And let’s not ask why cyclists are sharing space with such massive vehicles on narrow roads in a small village, that’d spoil the story…)
Thursday evening: the box outside the workshop and ready for delivery to college for the judging.
I didn’t take it all the way on the Bakfiets. I designed the project to be small enough for easy transport on the Xtracycle, but this plan was scuppered by having to take lots of tools and wood for the exam on the same day.
Yesterday the three of us being examined delivered our projects and built a chair in seven hours. The official letter to say if we passed or not arrives on Monday.
Right now I’m adjusting to the idea that I don’t have to do any more maths equations…
Gloves, for me, are frequently elsewhere: either forgotten at home, or at my destination, or in the worst case scenario, somewhere in the middle lying forlornly on the road and waiting for me to roll by and pick them up.
For gloves, also read ‘groceries’; ‘shopping’; ‘college notes’; ‘wallet’… If I can put it down and forget it, I will. I think German Railways are financing a couple of large-scale projects with the proceeds from hats I’ve left on trains, and although I haven’t managed to lose my bike yet I know in my heart that it is only (1) because it is too big to forget easily, and (2) only a matter of time.
So when I set out this week to make some photocopies of rather important certificates, buy some stationery for Eldest Son, and then pick up something from the Chemist for Beautiful daughter, I was determined. Nothing Would Go Missing.
First the printer, I went in, made the photocopies, dropped them, picked them up, sorted them, and departed with everything organised, in the folder, uncrumpled, and without leaving the original on the glass. Success.
Next, the stationery shop, where Eldest and I managed to meet with the minimum of amusing ‘just missing each other’ moments* and we were able to pick up a worryingly small pack pf pens that we carefully zipped into a pocket: you can’t be too careful.
Two down, one to go: the Chemist was the next stop, where they actually had what we needed. This was also zipped away and we headed out of the door. Success was ours, All Items Would Be Delivered.
By now it was getting a little cold. As we stepped outside I reached for my gloves…
*Uses for a Bakfiets #873: instant meeting point/landmark.**
**Do not attempt in Amsterdam.