Day 4: Bike boy

I went to the sleepy Dutch town of Gouda for a story this week. As my luck would have it, there is only one bus going in my direction and arriving at the train station, I miss it by one minute. The interview is important, and in the Netherlands, being on time is essential. So I foot the bill for a cabbie that ends up costing me all my cash. An hour and a half later, I’m leaving the interview and watching the number 189 bus speed past.

Gouda is a gorgeous town, and the day equally beautiful so I decide to walk the distance to the train station. After a good 20 minutes, and a growing sense of being lost, I encounter a young man on a bike, waiting at the corner for the lights to change.

“Which way is the station?” I ask him. He looks confused, not because I’m speaking English to a boy of no more than 15 but, apparently because of the distance. “But I’m going that way,” he says. “I’ll give you a ride.”

So, I hop on the back of his sturdy oma fiets and we take off toward the station. When he asks where I’m from, I admit to being American. “You don’t see many American girls in Gouda,” he says.

This boy is sweet, but obviously not used to giving bike lifts, evident by the struggle he has steering and maintaining speed. Through his laboured breathing, he tries to keep up some light conversation.

“Where are you headed?” I ask him. “To volleyball practice,” he replies. “Well, you can tell all your friends you gave an American girl a ride to the station,” I say. “Yea right!” he exclaims, “Like they’d believe me!”

I can’t help but smile at the fact I may have just made this boy's day – and after fully realizing the walk I had ahead of me before I met him, he’s made my day too.

At the station, he drives me literally to the platform steps. “That was the best bike ride ever,” I tell him as I hop off. “You’re welcome,” he says, then we kiss three times, and part ways.