I decide to take a longer run this morning. Through the flat land between the fields and meadows. The roads are long and straight, there is hardly any traffic. It is already 23 degrees, the sun is burning and the tour is difficult for me.
Then a Volvo approaches me in the distance. A red handkerchief flutters from the outside mirror. I sometimes doubt whether I can still sympathize with farmers’ campaigns. The driver has the window open and one elbow is leaning out. As the car passes me, the man yells in a taunting voice: “Hurry up slow.”
Readers are the authors of this section. An Ikje is a personal experience or anecdote in a maximum of 120 words. Send to [email protected]
A version of this article also appeared in the newspaper of August 8, 2022