Yesterday evening still had a couple surprises in store. Without realizing, I had pitched my tent right above an ant nest. As I lay stretched out on my sleeping pad, giving my legs a rest, I saw an army of ants marching up and down the outside canvas. The mesh that separates the inner from the outer tent is fine enough to keep them out, but I opted for piece of mind. Fortunately the sun was setting, because there was no shade where I repitched my tent.
According to the website, the campground was adults only. When I arrived yesterday, I relished in the serenity and quiet of the area. No kids – a blissful calm. Around 2100 I went into my tent, glad to go to sleep early. That’s when I noticed a disturbance in the force. I recalled the campground keeper casually mentioning that there would be a little festival nearby, so we might hear a some music. But only until one o’clock at night. The thumping hardstyle bass of Parookaville festival traveled effortlessly across the five miles of plains between Weeze Airport and our campground.
In my tent, surrendering to the immediate reality, I let hiking fatigue get the better of the soundwaves traveling through the warm summer air. The last I remember before falling asleep was checking my phone; Spain had not won the world cup yet.
Hiked out at 0700. The trail led through the village of Wanssum. The marina stoked dreams of sailing around the world. The trail led through the village of Mierlo. The brightly painted ‘Save the Planet’ sign at the bus stop was all the existential hope I needed to remind myself that my grind as a sustainability consultant matters. The trail led through the village of Tienray. The million-dollar smile of the waitress almost made me belief I was special. The trail led through the village of Swolgen. A man was walking his dog. He had skin pigment variations and kind eyes. On his right shoulder sat a virgin white parrot. ‘There’s something you don’t see everyday‘ I told him. It was an umbrella cockatoo and according to him the most dangerous bird to try and train. I bet some british blokes would disagree.. he told me I could pet the bird. I softly grazed its pristine feathers. It felt fragile. No photo – this aint a zoo.
The temperature difference between clear and cloudy sky was stark today. Sweat and fear of sunburn vs. chills and need for a jacket. There were wooden walkways through a swampy area. If you can’t make it to Louisiana (yet), find it in your backyard. Had to endure some gnarly brush with thorns. Got some bramble scratches on my shins, which will become battlewounds when I retell an exaggerated version of this story back home.
Had a late lunch in the village of Grubbenvorst. My body gave little cheers of joy from the fresh salad and veggies. Did another ferry crossing and hiked past a field of cannabis sativa. At the campground I chatted with 65 year old man, who was bikepacking with his son in law. They were doing a loop of 4 days, total 320 km. He practiced Tibetan yoga each morning, had bikepacked throughout Europe, and planned on going on many more trips after his retirement next year. Whenever he worked himself into a sweat on his bike on a steep hillside, he told himself, ‘I’m doing it! I’m doing it! I’m living!’ He was lean and tanned, with many wrinkled lines around his eyes ablaze with life. He inspired me.
