17. going bush in the bos

angling off from the bottom corner of amsterdam is the bos.



as you ride through the streets trees become more frequent and the suburbs take hold.




then your off the edge like its the side of the world and cultivated open space envelopes you.




warm day. the marshes rattle with squeaky birds. the cool dark laneways, clearly marked with pedestrian, cycle, jogger and horse tracks call sweatly.




miss adventure was totally burning it down the first down hill and maintained the lead even through being distracted by the suited gent cruising the other way dressed to the nines.





this sign was then translated as 'fear rooster' and so 'the rooster', also know 'the cruiser', became a feature character for the daily script. did you see that guy? she says looking back over her shoulder.




didn't see him says recalcitron.





"was too busy perfecting my nature shots" he says. then streaks past at lightning speed making cracks about the steely gleam of his patterned patent shoes.






doesn't even occur to these giggling bandits that the bos might end and have freaky rows of green houses stacked along a freeway beside it.






so quick. turn around now. take a hook turn east. dip back into the trees and find a oasis deep in the woods to reward with icecream those hard earned miles.



out on the lake paddle boats motor soundlessly across the surface. an elderly couple walk slowly down the pontoon, snuzzle into the bucket seats and move off into the afternoon.




the bikes stand guard looking over the little shed.




while the pigeon pair perch perfectly on the wave of ice cream romance.



on the way home, the beatrix park popped up and showed its autumn colours with almost casual abandon.





being a part of the season it feels like i am winding the spring of some ancient internal clock.