A and her parents graciously lent us, along with their home, two bicycles. L and I rode the bicycles everyday to the train station, padlocked them to posts at the bicycle shed, and got on a train to wherever we had to go. It's true what they say about the unrelenting flatness of the Netherlands - biking is enjoyable here, and really part of the lifestyle.
On the supposed last night of our stay in A's home and village, L and I found that the back tires of both our bikes were locked. We couldn't move the bikes, so we had to walk about a kilometer or so back to A's house. Suffice it to say that out idyllic perception of the Netherlands was shot with that one bike incident and the sad realization that punks are everywhere, even in the Netherlands where they breathe fresh air (there goes that theory).
After unglamorously wheeling the bikes on the road (on one wheel) to a bike shop, walking two or so kilometers to get back to the train station and, five days later, taking a train from the Hague, walking two kilometers to the bike shop, taking one bike and riding it to A's house, walking again to the bike shop and riding the other bike to take it home, I've decided that I miss subways.
The only upside to all this - I was able to take a picture of this pony: