| What are we doing?
September 1st, 2001  It's one year further on, and life is beautiful. As contented as I already was  Reunion because, at the Airborne, you meet everybody you know from the other marches. And pleasant because Oosterbeek is a nice area to walk through. Moreover, this year was the first in which the organizing Police Sports Association Renkum had decided to add to the available distances by introducing a 40 kilometre one. So, where last year the longest possible distance was 25 km, and this had made it at least slightly difficult, for people like the Wandelsoc., to really be proud of that flying horse, this year the Airborne has finally become something that does us good.
 And so we met at Hartenstein, as if we came from nowhere, and rather early, around eight thirty. Albert van Geyningen, secretary of the Walking Society of Ex-Commandoes, son Vandy, colleague-ex-commando Mack, Ben Jeursen, Astrid van Loon, Marco, Henk and myself. The rest had failed to show up: Larisa had to work, Rob van Driel had fallen ill, Lydia Smith was ill too, Jochem Prakke remained at home for a 1-0 defeat of the Dutch national soccer team at the hands of the Irish Republic (for which I blame the players, not the coach), Max abstained on account of his falling out with Schelden, and Patty Vlietstra did not fancy going it alone on the 25, and had therefore decided to go and walk around Ede a bit instead.
But so we did have great fun. Not just because of the weather, which was much better than expected. Dark clouds were never far, but not a splash. And loads of sun, sometimes even burning hot. This made it a wonderful march, because the track, which passes across the Ginkel heath and through the forests around Oosterbeek, is beautiful even without sun. Mind you, we would even have had great fun if it had rained cats and dogs. 
 Which could hardly be different, given the makeup of our group: the level of silliness was high. From Schelden's usual bragging, through the constant abuse Mack dealt him (Henk: "I didn't like Mack from the offset - but now I never want to see his face again". Mack: "Hey walking drama, I've got NEWS for you - I like walking, so you are never going to get rid of me again".), which earned Mack a definite invitation to the Ribbonshower, past Mack's meaningful conversation with a dog, and past Vandy's fiddling (who kept trying, in vain, to do what father Ab did manage to do at an earlier stage, namely to steal Mack's waterbottle from his banana), to the juvenile screwing around of Ab (who, as said, stole that waterbottle, but didn't leave it at that - as I walked along a cornfield with Astrid, Mack and Vandy, all of a sudden, deeper into the field, through the plants, something sniffling past by us: this then turned out to be Ab who, as he suddenly appeared on the narrow country trail ahead of us, paid for this by being subjected to a cob-bombardment by Mack and Vandy; off target, and degenerating into some sort of homoerotic romp between Mack and Vandy.
Oh, and then there were Ben Jeursen, the 110 man, who liberally sprayed the Ginkel heath with his Ben-cards (his first name in Dutch reads as 'am' in 'I am', which is also the name of a well known telecommunications provider in the Netherlands and Belgium - thus the cards read 'Am sociable', 'Am reachable', 'Am royalist', things like that, on blue, with matching icons-on-white on the back), "to keep us sharp", which Ab and I picked up, then to throw them down on the table in front of Ben's beer ("Am POLLUTANT!"), and Astrid, who, upon return to the grounds of Hartenstein proceeded to do happy handstands upon the gigglish Mack (and in so doing boosted my infamously bad hand-eye coordination by suddenly throwing me an empty wineglass I succesfully caught). 
And Schelden, who had proclaimed himself to be ill (what enlightened self-knowledge eh) and indeed did collapse somewhat greyishly upon arrival. So that, about an hour later, preceding our dinner, I had to go lift him from the first aid tent, where he'd been stashed away under a blanket. Oh well, at least that gave the first aid people something seriousish to do, that's the good thing about adding the forty eh. Not that it helped: Schelden was not to be aware of our dinner, as he went to obliviously snooze, in Astrid's borrowed car. This was no problem, since he had to return with her anyway. He had namely sneakily left his keys with her, after he'd made his way into her spare bed by way of brute mobile phoning. 
Heroism, due to that forty, was present at other moments too. Marco van Zijntergen, for instance, had to concede that his unassailability where marching injuries were concerned had definitely been stamped into the past during Nijmegen, since he had trouble during this one too, albeit (most surprisingly, but there you go) to his other leg, of which Astrid therefore supportingly subtaped the knee under my watchful gaze. As usual, of course, Marco finished the march with a determined expression about his mouth, but without complaint. Congratulations, dude. 
All in all, a success. As even Pieter Spaan (the reservist from the Limburg Huntsmen, whom we ran into upon arrival at Hartenstein) thought, although he didn't like the idea of doing forty here at all, and had therefore done the 25 instead, and who was also pissed off because we hadn't told him we'd be marching here. Well, this must have been because the subject was inadvertently not raised during the MESA - you see, we always march at the Airborne, ever since we've existed as a Walking Society, eh ;-).  And so, dear PSV Renkum, you will see us again next year. And, if you please, do preserve the forty beyond next year, since it pleases. Even despite the slight administrative imperfections (at the Start they had no idea whether or not I'd actually paid during presales-by-mail, even though the amount had definitely been booked from my Girotel, and if you had registered by mail in advance, you had to, instead of being able to leave earlier, stand in line at the normal 40 km booth, only to find out you had to go to 'Information' instead - but hey, this was a first and well, they did give me my starting cards without further ado) the organisation, as far as I'm concerned, has made a good move there.
 Because of the longer distance this march has become a challenge for experienced walkers too, and its track has been expanded with a beautiful, largely unpaved stretch through forest and across heath. In this stretch is the military cemetery where, to my great joy, I discovered a plaque that, as far as I'm concerned, reflects the spirit of marches like this one excellently, by being a dedication, by British and Polish veterans, to the local youth that lays flowers on the graves of their fallen comrades every year. Here, we also visited the grave of the first Dutch commando killed in action, August Bakhuis Roozeboom, member of No. 2 (Dutch) troop - historism Ab enlightened us with: there were more of these 'troops' within the international special forces brigade, No. 10 (Interallied) Commando, that Churchill founded, including a German/Austrian one, which therefore fought against(!) the Germans.
And apart from this graveyard this bit of track also contains a most picturesque resting spot, with comfortable wicker chairs and delightfully pretty damsels (who should learn to draw beers a little better though, so here lies an agreeable task for Jochem Prakke). Moreover, the extra bit of course crossed the route of Leg 2 of Crossing Borders From Border To Border, in Renkum, at the point where we marched past the Parenco paper mill at the time: a proud moment of return, therefore. No, the only disappointing thing about the forty was the fact that not enough people took part yet, which made it a relief of sorts to run into the prams and CaptainJack-singers (amongst whom, naturally, were at least two Blisterkickers) of the 25 again. I'd never thought I'd get to appreciate this. So let us hope this will be put to right next year: this is an appeal.  You see, the fact that, at that particular point, we also ran into a girl that bitched that "you're totally nuts if you go walk the Airborne" (no, stupid cow, if you do you have some sense of history and the guts to explore your personal boundaries and you get to see at least part of your own countryside as you're engaged in a sporting activity), doesn't at all degrade the experience: every crowd has its morons. The forty of the Airborne is a recommendation.
To your health gentlemen, lady, excellent walking there. Oosterbeek is ours. Van Wielik (Kneuterdijk 2b, 2514 EN, the Hague, tel. +31 (0)70-3462196, fax +31 (0)70-3617335) awaits. |