Distance	Elapsed Time	Moving Time	Average Speed	Max Speed	Elevation Gain	Calories Burned
310 km	12:35 hours	11:22 hours	27.28 km/h	45.11 km/h	197 m	5,125 kcal

⛴️⌛️⛅️Lelystad – Medemblik – Den Helder

25 August 2023

Another Friday, another big push. My first proper Noord-Holland ride in ages. I grew up in Heiloo, studied in Haarlem and later Amsterdam, where I lived for thirty years. But I did not cycle to Den Helder yet.
I find large parts of the Noord-Holland landscape downright unfriendly. Other people might not agree. In all its flatness and straight roads the only vision is often the horizon. Tunnel vision enters my mind when riding here. One moment I feel safe because all is out in the open and everything seems visible. The next one has to navigate a tiny steep bridge, a road filled with lumps of mud that came of a tractor, an impatient driver.
Aware of this I plotted my route largely along the dykes. And I re-discovered the more modest sides to the wide Noord-Holland scenery. Like the winding dykes that provide shelter; little hamlets in between spare trees; and a meandering canal.

I started off just after 5. The fog of last week now seemed like clear skies! The clouds were so thick that for the first hour hardly any light was coming through. I was really happy having a good front light and riding on familiar roads. Slowly the light increased with the sunrise hidden from sight.
When I reached the Oostvaardersdijk north of Almere the horizon on the Markermeer was lost in the fog. Then before entering Lelystad through the Hollandse Hout I spotted a fox. Or rather, the fox spotted me and sped away. A little beyond I saw two radiant eyes on a wolf sized canine. Could it be? Far from it. A black and brown Saint Bernard, its owner a little bit behind. I needed some light.

After Lelystad I continued to Enkhuizen on the Houtribdijk. With 26km it is the longest dam in the Netherlands after the Afsluitdijk. As a child I often passed the dyke on family visits to my aunt and uncle in the Flevopolder. Today the air was occupied with gnats on the second half. In a headwind I rode 10km with my mouth closed and my eyes squinted while setting a new riding-into-gnats distance/time PR. I kept wondering if these gnats had been there when I was young. No way to know from my memory of travelling in a car.

Between Enkhuizen and Medemblik I used the road below the dyke after starting on the top. Being on the dyke was nice enough with an unrestricted view. The path is narrow however and full of bumps. It did not take long when I found myself behind a school class of children in purple and teachers in yellow vests. With no real space for overtaking I descended to the smooth wide road and stayed there. In the tighter bends the constantly winding, impressively wide dyke body creates little refuges where often houses stand.

Passing the Stoommachinemuseum I nearly reached Medemblik. This triggered more memories: visiting the ‘Stoomdagen‘, a festival with all kinds of steam engine driven vehicles on display, like steam trains and road rollers. I admired Radboud castle and the town hall. Then outside the city the skyline, the Lely pumping station and a modern windturbine. What a fascinating corner.

Next was a long stretch of a few straight roads through the Wieringermeer polder to Den Oever. In a rare occasion here winds were light and I could save some energy. After Den Oever the road led through some sheltered villages like Oosterland and Stroe. This used to be the island of Wieringen until the Wieringermeer was created in 1930.

A few more straight roads and I had reached Den Helder. More memories: visiting the Vlootdagen (the open house days of the Royal Dutch Navy), and more recently holidays on Texel. I ate a muffin and filmed the ferry while it was coming into the harbour. The air had cleared up so Texel was clearly visible across the Marsdiep.

I continued along the cycling path outside the dyke and entered the dunes shortly after. The path here is never straight, curving along any substantial heap of sand. It was getting busier: I encountered some completely unaware German tourists walking four abreast as if on pavement, and some cycling Brits, excusing their tiny Yorkshire terrier which was proudly walking on the left side of the road. So in Julianadorp I left my route to get on the main road.

In Callantsoog I refilled my bottles and waiting at a zebra was nearly brushed by a cyclist turning into the pavement without even indicating direction. Thank goodness I was heading for the wide open polder again: next I would be crossing the province from west to east with an extra stop in Alkmaar.
I reached the Noordhollands Kanaal in Schoorldam. In my memory the canal from Amsterdam to Den Helder is much further east, much more central. But it is so only for the part Amsterdam-Purmerend. After that it crosses the province west to Alkmaar and continues close to the dunes.

Memory is a strange thing. Obviously I am aware that Alkmaar is close to the dunes, just like I am aware the canal runs dead on north-east to Alkmaar’s historical centre. I still did not put two and two together.
So you can imagine how surprised I was when entering Schoorldam and realizing that Schoorl was this close to the canal. I looked left and there they were—the dunes. Another surprising discovery is how the canal starts meandering in Koedijk. Again, my memory was that of a straight canal with some turns. I positively enjoyed this section. How nice to be surprised and let go of my preconceptions that had been dressed up as memories.

I crossed the canal to the other side and had a break in a park. Kermis was on in Alkmaar and it blocked the western canal road. Still on my saddle with one foot unclipped I moved carefully through the crowd. A little girl shouted at me: ‘No cycling here!’ I smiled half-sheepishly, half-defiant. Of course she was right.
I rushed out of the city on a busy narrow road along the Noordervaart. Normally this is the quieter road, but the main road on the other side of the canal was temporarily closed off. In Stompetoren a large group of pedestrians—churchgoers? wedding guests?—was walking along the road. Oncoming car traffic had to stop and make way. A cyclist could easily pass.
After that the road surface was filled with lumps of mud since farmers were harvesting. I removed speed while many a car driver didn’t. It’s utterly ridiculous how close some of these drivers will pass you. Did someone say tunnel vision?

A road block near Schermerhorn made me pass through the village and gave me a chance to admire the church. Memories again, but I don’t remember when or what exactly. On a frozen winter day skating the Eilandspoldertocht south of Schermerhorn? On a Sunday going along with my father when his football team played out in one the small villages around Alkmaar? Or on another outing? All of them probably apply.

Another 10km to the Markermeer where I would largely follow the coast until my last refill spot in Monnickendam. Surprisingly cars still jot around in Monnickendam’s historical centre with its clinker roads. Not surprisingly the clinkers have become loose and feel like cobbles.

With the wind in my back I was racing towards Amsterdam and back to Loenen. Fantastic how moving through supposedly known terrain still gives you so much to discover and think about. All made possible thanks to some perseverance, and the wonder of the humble bicycle! 😺