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Easter and Zeeland. Get a breath of fresh air.

Cadzand in the rain Ernie once cycled to Cadzand Bad at the age of thirteen.  We decide to transfer the ride to the motorcycle.  The Netherlands has changed a lot in 30 years.  And four old motorcycles are different from a bicycle.  Especially when a sidecar is driving.  The ride follows the authentic route in a natural way.  We drive on cycle paths, through now grown residential areas, public gardens and shopping centers.  It is the middle of summer so everyone thinks we are a local holiday activity.  The Kruiningen-Perkpolder ferry is no longer available.  But such a tunnel also has something.  The old-timers shudder through the kilometer-long pipe that fills with barking, bangs and growls from front to back.  Playing with the pre-ignition produces a thunderstorm of thunderous bangs and blue-purple exhaust flames.  Holidaymakers whirl the caravans stunned in our wake.  The sound hurricane is also ahead of us.  That apparently has something to do with resonance frequencies.  Sustaining permanent hearing damage is a party!  On the other side of the tunnel we arrive in a somewhat gloomy climate zone, but we get to Cadzand Bad, the seaside town with the ugliest boulevard ever.  It has been a long day, so we have to forage first.  We walk to the Seagull.  There it is pleasantly busy on the terrace.  Everyone winks happily at the sea.  The clouds are increasing.  Jackets and helmets can rest in a corner of the terrace.  We do a beer and arrange ashtrays.  There is a man with Harley tattoos on his anabolic shoulders.  He has a considerably younger lady with him and is very busy ignoring motorcyclists without Harley tattoos.  Would that actually hurt, put a tattoo?  Some drops fall.  We order some beer and a triple bitter garnish.  Fried things are good.  Because an engine can't do without oil either.  It is starting to rain seriously.  The terrace people flee en masse.  Summer rain is not bad.  We just put on our motorcycle gear again.  And why not put on your helmet because you happen to be sitting on a terrace?  The service understands it completely.  Our croquettes and things are served under plastic.  Cheerful umbrellas are placed in the food and are usually placed on sorbets.  It is hard to drink to get the glasses empty.  We search for our base.  The next day is summer again.  There is a mussel restaurant in Philippine, the owner of which we know.  The man has a nice collection of Vincents behind the case.  A day is over in no time.  On the way back there is only some consternation at the toll gate.  We say that we do not have to pay because there is a man on the other side of the tunnel with a bag who arranges the ticket sales.  Immediately two tunners with a service car go in search of the newly conceived entrepreneur at the other end of the pipe.  The return journey is on beaten track.  If you drive on motorways with eighty, you create your own island of traffic silence.  Such an Easter weekend is over in no time.  Unfortunately.  A good container Everything breaks down.  Also BMW gearboxes.  Then it appears that a baking overhaul at professional and beun can be done perfectly for € 400.  That must therefore be possible differently.  The local dump engine trader nowadays gets BMW R 65 GSsen from Denmark.  Often there is some irregularity.  He has five bins with a kickstarter.  If I try them all for him I can keep a good copy.  All five bins are rotten, but I can now change bins within an hour.  Internetjagerij teaches that bins for a euro or three hundred are offered.  Then Waldemar comes into the picture.  Waldemar is from the digital generation and he was born smart.  He will search under 'R45'.  That is the kind of boxer that is preventively cleared in all shelters because there is no owner to be found for it.  Somewhere in Noord Holland someone offers R45 stuff.  The advertisement contains a completely dismantled R45 minus the license plate.  That includes a container and it must cost € 199.  The frame costs 199, - euro.  The tank and side covers 199, - euro.  Everything for 199, - euros per portion.  An R45 bin can never have suffered much.  Because R45s are full of no power.  And Den Helder ... I hadn't been there in twenty years.  To be convincing, Comrade Ernie and I grabbed my Lief's BX.  BX drivers are on Wiki Pedia as school examples for scrawny people without money.  Den Helder is further away than most people think.  But in the end we drove into a Vinex-like neighborhood where not even Prozac was washed.  The specified house number radiated the desolate gloom in superlative.  In the hall it smelled like toilet freshener who had lost the fight and boiled endive.  Now we saw what R45 driving could bring.  We received text and explanation.  The engines were heirlooms.  The heir was entitled to professional benefits.  He had surrendered the license plates and number plates and thus deprived the engines of their existence.  That way sales could be kept out of the books.  Slim.  A friend advised him to advertise on Marktplaats.  Smart too.  Moreover, Vriendmans had said to offer everything for € 199 per unit to be sold.  Because that again saved € 6 advertising costs.  Very smart too.  With such friends you don't need enemies.  It took a while to fit and measure to get the things in the back of the BX.  But the two engine blocks, the two gearboxes, the two tank / seat / side cover sets and the two frames with forks fit into it.  We declined the coffee offered and fled to the east again.  The R 45 bucket was assembled and switched happy as new.

Easter and Zeeland. That seemed like a good concept.

Friend Ernie once cycled to Cadzand Bad at the age of thirteen. We decide to transfer the ride to the motorcycle. The Netherlands has changed a lot in just forty + years. And four old motorcycles are different from a bicycle. Especially when a sidecar is driving. The ride follows the authentic route in a natural way. We drive on cycle paths, through now grown residential areas, public gardens and shopping centers. It is the middle of summer so everyone thinks we are a local holiday activity. The Kruiningen-Perkpolder ferry is no longer available. But such a tunnel also has something.

Storm in the tunnel

The old-timers thunder through the miles of pipe that fills with barks, bangs and grunts from front to back. Some play with the ignition produces a thunderstorm of thunderous bangs and blue-purple exhaust flames. The open megaphone of the tuned 140 cc Super Motor, a Chinese Honda Cib clone, sounds like anti-aircraft guns with ADHD. Vacationers and caravans whirl numb in our tracks. The noise hurricane is also ahead of us. Apparently this has something to do with resonance frequencies. Permanent hearing damage is a joy! On the other side of the tunnel we enter a somewhat gloomy climate zone, but we reach Cadzand Bad, the seaside resort conquered by the Flemish with the ugliest boulevard ever. Cadzand Bad is now quite full. A marina, a cottage park. Apartments. There are still a few houses that have not yet been sold to Belgian project developers. It has been a long day and so we have to forage first. We walk to the Zeemeeuw.


Nice on the terrace

There it is pleasantly busy on the terrace. Everyone winks happily at the sea. The clouds are increasing. Jackets and helmets can rest in a corner of the terrace. We do a beer and arrange ashtrays. There is a man with Harley tattoos on his anabolic shoulders. He has a considerably younger lady with him and is very busy ignoring motorcyclists without Harley tattoos. Would that actually hurt, put a tattoo?

Some drops fall. We order some beer and a triple bitter garnish. Fried things are good. Because an engine can't do without oil either. It is starting to rain seriously. The terrace people flee en masse. Summer rain is not bad. We just put on our motorcycle gear again. And why not put on your helmet because you happen to be sitting on a terrace?

The service understands it completely. Our croquettes and things are served under plastic. Cheerful umbrellas are placed in the food and are usually placed on sorbets. It is hard to drink to get the glasses empty. We search for our base. The next day is summer again. There is a mussel restaurant in Philippine, the owner of which we know. The man has a nice collection of Vincents behind the case. A day is over in no time.

Such a weekend is over quickly

On the way back there is only some consternation at the toll gate. We say that we do not have to pay because there is a man on the other side of the tunnel with a bag who arranges the ticket sales. Immediately two tunners with a service car go in search of the newly conceived entrepreneur at the other end of the pipe. The return journey is on beaten track. If you drive on motorways with eighty, you create your own island of traffic silence.
Such an Easter weekend is over in no time.
Unfortunately.

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