Rainy evening thoughts

90 percent having a blast, but 10 percent worried

Jul 20, 2025

As I write this the sky is rumbling and the rain has just started to pelt down, with big drops falling hard into puddles and roofs. I’m cozy, safe, and dry in the reception area of the De Deelderij camping B&B zorg in Schoonloo, Holland. (Read their description of zorg.) I arrived after a long day cycling around 4pm, set up my tent, rain-proofed the site, put my bike under cover, took a shower, and sat outside in the covered patio of the barn to eat dinner and watch the storm roll in.

It rained last night so the morning was cool and damp as I started out. I’ll post the video of these happy cows on Instagram.

It was fun for awhile—then the wind picked up. The owner stopped by and kindly suggested I come to the reception office, where there is a large country-style wood table with five mismatched chairs on each side. There’s a freezer with ice cream, a coffee station, a basket of eggs, some tourist brochures, and a wall filled with handmade treasures from the farm like jams and potholders. There’s also a wall of assorted paperbacks for sale for one euro each. I got myself a cup of hot Rooibos tea and a jar of jam to take to my friend Gera tomorrow.

Whatever I take I write down on a ledger sheet and pay for when I check out. When I arrived, my name was on the blackboard in the window, saying Welcome Guests. The facilities are wonderfully clean, and except for this storm, it would be a lovely spot to spend the night.

Much of the route in the last few days looked like this. A dedicated cycle path, smooth and fast, through farms and forests.

It’s supposed to rain for the next few days but I’m going to be staying with Gera for a few days in Groningen so I’m set. I’ll also have to make a plan for the next few weeks. Coming inland was a great choice, but I might head north from Groningen to the coast and follow the coast route for awhile into Denmark.

Most of the time I feel enriched by my journey, wanting to continue on to see Copenhagen and Malmo, in particular. I have another four weeks in the Schengen, and I’m still planning to head to Ireland afterwards to Erin and Skip. But I feel burdened by two primary thoughts. One, my lack of money. This is, of course, complex, with a whole basketful of related worries, like am I doing enough to promote my Substack subscriptions, I need to make more movies, how will I earn an income when I really, really, really don’t want a job. Or rather, I can’t imagine the job that I would want. Maybe it’s out there.

Blikvanger means “eyecatcher” but this is commonly seen at the start and end of village limits for cyclist to throw their trash into. It’s a deep, cone-shaped basket.

Two is the turmoil back home. I haven’t addressed this often, but the news from the U.S. is just horrifying. Kidnapping on the street, holding citizens in custody, cutting the Department of Education, reducing staff in essential government services, the big ugly bill that at least one senator is backpedaling on. Plus the Texas floods, which highlighted the criminal irresponsibility of Texas authorities, years of incompetence, and the MAGA idiocy. I’m thinking in particular of the townhall where citizens refused to accept funds from the Biden administration that would have paid for a warning siren, among other safety measures, because they accused Biden of being a communist. (See my favorite meteorologist’s posts on Facebook.)

This might be the favorite flower for Dutch homes.

I am constantly reminded by the canals I cycle past, the dikes I ride on, the flood control mechanisms and movable bridges I cross, that we have the technology to hold back the ocean. The freaking ocean. Certainly we can do better on the Guadalupe and other Texas rivers.

So what is my role in this? That is the second thought. I don’t even know where to start, but I’d like to. I can’t sit quietly while this madness continues. If anyone has any ideas, please let me know.