At good speed we then therefore set off towards Luxembourg, me in Harm's racing car, because I suspected he'd be the first there, and I wanted to be in the line for enrolment as soon as possible, mindful of earlier experience as I was.

Not that this helped any. For I subsequently spent three hours in that line. It really is unbelievable how slow the processing of that enrolment proceeds, given the computers that are on the table these days. An incompetent bunch of Dutch IT-dudes would still make mince, out of bozos like these. But they do have the power, and happily look for 1 badly typed name behind 1 of those computers, between three of them, when there are a few hundred people waiting.

Utterly bizarre, and I therefore received quite a bit of applause from my fellow Soc.-members when, at last, I appeared at their table, heavily beerladen by now, with the passes for accommodation, and the starting cards and meal tickets. That, out of shock, I forgot to notice that, in the folder with advertising leaflets for all kinds of crap, there was also a sheet that explained that dinner was served nightly in the barracks on the Herrenberg, and so discovered this only by the time that I was back in Holland, troubles me greatly, but unfortunately was what followed.



Once quartered in the encampment by the start, however, we had a great time at the party in the starting grounds where, besides reservist Jansen and fellow (friends since Bern) we also shook hands with Jasper Nales.

Day 2
The next day began well - with the breakfast in the party hall, namely, which was excellent as usual. Immediately after that, things did go awry for a bit again, because I had to wait a long time, at the first ticket punch, for a guy to finish, who presented the puncher with the starting cards for his entire contingent.

But once he'd finally worked his way through those we got to get away at last, from under a radiant morning sun - and Marco Neumann, for one, gained his first victory, by arriving at the first rest, atop the first hill, without trouble, where last year, on that very same hill, he'd still sighed: "Is this normal, around here?" and had eventually given up and called it quits at 12 kilometres distance.

Mind you, he was taking it easier this time anyway, by, like Max, not going for the 40, but the 20 km - but a man must know his limitations, and this appeared (and later turned out to be) a wise decision. As was the one Lourens Dinger made, who in contrast to last year, when he made off like an escaped pathologic on the first day, and spent the second on the Herrenberg with a tendon inflammation, took things real slowly, today.

I, on the other hand, was making things pretty difficult for myself again. I namely didn't contemplate trying twice what failed the first time, so I did not ask the newest member present (in this case, just like in Bern, that was Jan Middelkoop again, who had flatly refused there) to carry the Society banner, but did it myself, just like I had in Bern, full uniform and white gloves included. And for the full forty kilometres too.



But that was not the worst. Because it did produce bonusses too. There was, for instance, young student shooters' association Pro Libertate from The Hague, whom I passed halfway up a hill, and utterly caught off guard with my "Goodmorning, gentlemen of the Pro Libertate, how are we today?". The heavily shaken answer was: "Jeezus, the Wandelsoc.! There's not a year you don't become..." ...and nothing followed that. Pleasant, particularly when it was followed by "Nice flag...", from somewhere else within the PL-platoon.

No, the worst was that I, because I'd lost a lot of time and distance with respect to my own platoon, with a. a raid on an unsuspecting, but exceptionally friendly Luxembourger, whose closet I befittingly shat apart, b. a repeat of the same at Hotel Oranienburg in Vianden, and c. a long conversation with a pleasant couple along the marching trail, wanted to catch hold of that platoon again, and therefore laid down a murderous pace.



Succesfully, because I caught up with them where, for the first time in our marching existence, we caught sight of a large contingent of Czech military. Always a pleasure, to run into a hitherto unseen nationality. Less pleasurable, though, that, during my advance, I had incurred a severe skinscrape, at the back of my thighs. It wouldn't pass, for a long time to come.

And so it became a painful affair, although all of us gloriously completed this first day, and the afterparty was therefore tiredly, but most contentedly enjoyed. This, by the by, only happened after everyone, except for Lourens Dinger and I, had made off to a hotel in Vianden, because the poor backs were poorly suited to the rockhard Luxembourgian camp beds, and the ears to the banter of fellow tentmates. Bunch of sis-sies!



But so anyway, we had a good party, although I felt it was a shame that I did run into Grietje Vissers and Janny Beishuizen, but not into lieutenant Marquart-Scholtz. Who was there, despite the substantial absence of the Dutch armed forces, because of the many overseas missions of that moment.

Day 2
The next morning, the rest turned out to have had a grand time in Vianden. They showed up reborn at the start, which was necessary too, since Diekirch still isn't a stroll.