May 5 is the National Holiday [bevrijdingsdag] of the Netherlands. I decided I should spend it celebrating for once, as I had missed 3 out of the last 4 by living in a country far far away. My father and I decided we would both cycle to Wageningen, a small town that hosts the biggest party every year. Just out of Nijmegen however, I carried my bike down some steps, off a bridge. For no apparent reason the pannier straps twirled around the derailleur and jammed it. The front mudguard was hanging loose, while the brake pads jammed against the rim. Aye, to a non-cyclist these last sentences were nonsensical, but to a cyclist like myself the entire bit was nonsensical too. I got my fingers dirty cleaning the derailleur, fixed the mudguards and got the pannier bags back on fine, but couldn't do anything with the front brakes. So I cycled further with the brakes on, until I met my dad at a restaurant halfway. He'd been waiting for an hour. When together we managed to get the brakes off, I did however notice that cycling with your brakes on is one helluva traing. My dad, who cycles to work daily and rides a racing bike every Sunday, couldn't keep up. Later of course, I drank him under the table too.