On the 17th of July 2010, five lonely cyclists are setting off from the UK on near 900 mile bike ride to south Germany, Bavaria - for what may be the journey of a life time - in support of SSAFA Forces Help.
Since arriving in Wertach and sleeping off the DnV - we've been up to all sorts of mischief.
Immediately we found ourselves in a bit of a transport dilema...we didn't have any, other than our bikes; Of which we we're totally fed up after a months solid cycling.
Wertach being located where it is,places of immediate interest are not very accessible. Communicating our story to those in the lodge who would listen, in the blind hope of some more donations (no luck as of yet), luck appeared in another form.
Upon telling one of the guys what we had done, and our transport problem; a simple response of "I've got a car you can use" solved that. Our eyes lit up in amazement! Trying to hide grins in a bid to quell images of joy riding officer cadets, insurance was checked; and with a final confirmation of "Sorry if this is a silly question, but can you drive?" we had the keys in our sweaty palms.
Second issue we ecountered: Our climbing aspirations relied on the aquisition of a rope...a harness, some helments, stickies (climbing shoes), quick draws, slings, walking books, bags, Karabiners. Everything essentially; which the lodge supplied to us with open arms.
There are keys - fucking keys - in the middle!
So, we've been living off 8 euros a day for food, climbing during the day, going for the occasional cycle and lots and lots of sun bathing.
And we've raised £2000 for SSAFA Forces Help (if you add the gift aid)
Thank you so much for all the support you have given us over the last month, and we sincerely hope that those of you who haven't got round to sponsoring us yet do so.
Another huge thanks to everyone who has helped us on our way. Various parents for love and support, friends, MSUOTC and its staff, Haus Magnus and its staff, as well as the occasional members of public that have encourged us on our way.
Finally - heres some pictures of the last couple of days and some we didn't get round to putting up in the first place:
On the ferry over - the equivilant of a wing mirror. Funny how parking a 1000+ ton ship comes down to some sharpie lines on some perspex.
Brewing up with Dave in the rain (yeah he did actually come for a while)
One of the maps we were using 1:350000 and ab-so-bloody-lutely no contours (lucky the Rhine and the Netherlands are flat-ish)
The boys bashering up ('if it ain't rainin it aint trainin' it fucking rained)
Lunch at Lidl, or Aldi, or Netto
Airing ourselves and our sore buttocks
Drunken tent repairs
Koln Cathedral
The Unkel Precession
Ellie and a Air Canada Pilot (Couldn't quite lift her, either through his own incompetence or Ellie's ever increasing shelf arse)
Cycling through yet another vineyard
Blackhawk up (Rob was very excited - would have been more so if it became 'down')
Sid the Security Tag (Evans, and Rob in his rush to join us neglected to get it removed)
"If your feet are in it, it means you've definitely been there" (Berry, R. 2010)
"If it flies - I like it" (Berry, R. 2010)
Typical view for the nav man (or woman)
Indoor wall in Obersdorf - complete with monkey playground and slack line - our days crag climbing was of course, rained off.
Op Raise Morale (bellies still sore from DnV)
I'd like to say I was getting changed into my climbing gear. I wasn't (I vaguely remember public nudity may get some more "challenge" donations)
Spiderman aka Rob leading a climb
Spiderwoman aka Ellie and her infamous shelf
Chitty Chitty Bang Bang's castle
Cooling off in a lake after a hard days climbing (was cold)
And that folks, pretty much sums up what we've been up to, and are going to be doing until our Adventure Training group comes out to join us. Happy Days!
Fuck, our last day of cycling and Charlotte having to leave us to catch an unfortunately timed flight back to the UK. The night before Will and I had stayed up later than rest of the motley crew shooting shit into the night; seeing Ellie march off on the now all too familiar trip to the toilet. Apparently she felt on deaths door throughout the night, but thankfully in the morning was fresh as a daisy and ready for the final push.
For myself, the complete opposite can be stated. Felt fine during the evening, great throughout the meal, but in the morning I awoke to a questionable fart. Thinking not much of it, Will, Max and I went searching for a supermarket and some breakfast. We returned with 18 croissants and various fillings. After breakfast and some orange juice (naturally interrupted by rain) Some more questionable farts lead to the obvious, a toilet trip.
By the time I had returned the crew had gathered in the car park of the campsite, Charlotte all packed away and ready to go. We each said our good-byes, individually praising her outstanding effort in what she achieved and thanking her for all those glorious meals she had cooked for us. And the food poisoning.
Notice me bent over with stomach cramps. Awesome.
I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been to enter into such a cliquey environment as a predominantly OTC led exped. Your commitment to the task at hand, always with a smile was an inspiration to us all. We’re dearly sorry that you couldn’t roll into Wertach with us, hanging out your arse as badly as we were, but thank you for the innumerable qualities that you brought to the group. To top it all off we even brought your cutlery to the table tonight – before realising we were three. Finally, always remember that you cycled further than Rob.
Before we knew it, the little Corsa pulled away and Charlotte had begun her journey home. This meant that is probably time for us to leave as well... Begrudgingly it was time to get back on the bike. No mean feat with an arse hole stinging to high heaven. Stuffing immodium down my throat like there was no tomorrow, we gently made our way towards Rettenburg.
While the going was flat, things were fine. Up hill, things weren’t too bad either. But the vibrations of going downhill mixed with a dodgy stomach lead to familiar tasting burps. Lasts nights spaghetti bolognaise. Before long I had chunks coming out my nose whilst cycling. Chunks coming out your nose aren’t ideal at the best of times. We stopped outside a house whose dog kicked up at fuss at our presence and my gagging. Crossing the street, a belly full of immodium and simply lead to stomach contents coming out the other side, my face.
Feeling totally shite, we pushed on. A few more minor hills and before we knew it, we had accidently hit the Red road going into Rettenburg we had been aiming for. A phone call to the lodge to tell them we would be arriving within the hour was frankly answered with “see you in half an hour then”. The hill before us just went up, and up, and up, and up and up. We must have climbed for longer, and higher, than that bastard of a 4km hill a few days previously before we all got sick.
Another couple of vomit stops, some rain and an hour and half of cycling preceded our arrival into Wertach.
A very humble, unceremonious finish to our 1600km cycle.
“Coyle – you said half an hour.”
“Yeah but there was a really big hill.”
“That hill wasn’t big, anyway, stick the bikes in the garage and your in room 19.”
So that was it. We’d done it. In bed by 4pm and didn’t rise other than to go to the toilet till 7am two days later.
Whether to follow the river or not to follow the river. A mild debated ensued. Somehow the result ended up in us doing neither and going on a little adventure all of our very own. We soon realised the error in our ways and stumbled across a 15% incline hill ...most of them were rolling and glorious. In desperate need for lunch on yet another fucking Sunday we were lucky to find a awesome Italian restaurant; where we all tucked into our first sizeable meal since feeling less than great. News of seeing Will in the evening at lunch – a mega suprise, which raised spirits tremendously as you can imagine.
An Old Lady with a dog helped us on our way onto Kempton – enlightening us towards a flat route, rather than the hilly one we had unknowingly planned on the map.
Absolutely chucked it down after lunch – the whole worlds water supply struck again.... Soaked wet through for the umpteenth time on the trip.
Once again became temporarily unfamiliar with our surroundings on the outskirts of Kempton, helped by the pissing rain. What can only be described as a saintly young lad on a scooter stopped to offer his two cents worth (stopping in the middle of the road and removing his helmet) – well trained by his mother but none the less still didn’t really have a clue. More rain. Asked some local girls in a bus shelter, but they just giggled – especially at Rob’s somewhat inappropriate gestures to them to look at the map.
Cold, wet, tired and hungry morale remained high with the prospect of new friends and conversation...they also had a car!! Will’s text saying he would be at the campsite in less than 45 minutes was not funny, considering he sent it from somewhere south of Munich, a damn sight further away.
Eventually we became aware of our surroundings and pushed on in rain. Found another person to ask, who sent us through a derelict part of Kempten over a river and under the autobahn. Found campsite, zero signs up until that point. In the bar we found Will and Max. Jubilation at meeting them. William had brought a ray of British sunshine into our lives at this point, due to him wearing his panama hat...Mr Gann I salute you sir!
Decided to get the tents set up then out for a meal. Will and Max had both decided to camp with us too, so we went on a drive in their car; well max’s sister’s corsa. Fully overloaded, with coyle catching her fingers in the boot lid as charlotte closed it!!! ’OPEN THE FUCKING BOOT, OPEN THE FUCKIN BOOT’
Will’s driving was atrocious, like being in the car with a blind Colin Macrae. Careering round the roads that lead to somewhere, we eventually found an Italian gest house. The night passed in good spirits with us all glad to see each other, and having arrived here in one piece....even with Will’s driving.
Route back was as epic as the route out, with a few shouts of ‘OTHER SIDE OF THE ROAD’ and Will trying to direct us via his iphone back to the campsite, up a pedestrian walkway(which we got through)...bed!
The Saturday morning we awoke to a full hostel for the weekend, forcing us on our way sooner than we would have liked but we all took to it well. A cold morning and low blood sugar lead to the early shout for MacDonalds a particular favourite of ours and a safe bet in the new light of hostile stomachs. With full tummy’s, some possibly too full, we pressed on soon to pass our first campsite, much to my shock horror... and onto the second we went via a dodgy pub that offered us tea??
The campsite on arrival didn’t look like anything special but boy did it provide a handsome evening meal!! It was a shame that it was this evening that the plague we’ve been carrying got the better of Rob. The rest of us managed to rack up an enormous bill having indulged heavily in the diverse menu; that happened to be that of an extravagant gormet restaurant where most guests were respectfully dressed. Never mind us then! At least by this stage we had showered and removed the Lycra.
News of Will in Munich, a friend on a climbing exped in the dolomites (abandoned, due to the poor weather), also continued to raise spirits as we thought there may be someone to witness the finale to come. Bed.
And the end I have reached! On the Sunday 15th of August 2010 I reached Oschle campsite, a very well hidden campsite a few kilometers south of Kempten, Bavaria. We battled through some of the coldestand heaviest rain experienced in the last 4 weeks for me to finish my cycling adventure in the beautiful Allgau of Germany. Unlike the afternoon, the last day greeted me with a pleasant mornings cycling from Memmingen across gentle hills and past pine forests. The scenary was everything we had come to Germany for and seemed to sum up the trip perfectly. Still slightly weak from the D&V the days before the 'gentle' hills still took no mercy on me having to puff all the way up them. The view from the top is always worth it though.
Its sad and a bit boring being home in Oxfordshire if im frank. The daily routine of brew, breakfast, cycle, lunch in a lidl/aldi carpark, cycle, locate a campsite, cook, shower, tights and bed has been all ive desired for the last month and will probably desire for a few more days until I can embrace what the English summer has left for me... apparently not a lot with a few days of rain forecast - would it be any other way?! Ive stated to my family that cycling is in my bones (and now athletically formed leg muscles!) for good and ive vowed to take my bike up to Glasgow Uni with me for more adventures in the Scottish Countryside. Im considering drop handle bars and a new set of brakes to improve my 'Trek' bike I fell in love with on the Bavaria Trip.
Looking forward to carrying on the passion I developed has led me to write about all that created it. The beginning of the trip was filled with very high apprehension every morning as Tom, Ellie and I left the warmth of friends homes to tackle the English Countryside. After cyclying out of Hampshire to Windsor on the first day it dawned on me extremtly quickly that this is going to be one of the hardest challenges I have set myself. Massive doubts haunted me every evening if I would make it up the hills the following day. Althought the few stops and sobs at the side of 'Upshire Hill' harrowed me with fear I wouldnt make it to Bavaria, let alone Harwich Ellie and Tom's incredible encouragement ensured I did. Im forever thankful for those early days of you guys pushing me to my limits to find the strenght to keep cycling and reach the end of the trip.
Harwich was a very high point in the trip for me. I had finished Phase 1A and was meeting the rest of the team that evening. That morning my mum had sponsored us and it provided me with the drive to keep on going. The 60mile day had filled me with a great sense of acheivement and meeting Dave Tooth and Rob Berry (again) provided a fresh look at the adventure and anticipation for cycling as a team of 5 was rose.
Cycling along the Rhine tested my fittness, keeping up with the group and playing my part at the front at times only made me stronger. Now home, Im feeling fresh and as fit as I may have been for a good 3 years - the cycling along dykes and in high winds has defintly paid off! My family are in awe of my physic now - makes a change to the usual fat sister jokes they used to throw at me. Now my legs of steel are more impressive than my sporty young sisters but my muscley shelf of a bum not so!!
The evenings of cooking and getting to know each other in 'beir gartens' have left an impression on me for sure. The insight to the OTC was exciting and at times even though I was outside the box I still felt your knowledge and practices rubbing off on me. Always at the butt of jokes for being a bit useless camping and general surviving outside in a forgein country I was asured by Ellie that insults were a strong sign of feeling comfortable with each other and of affection. Being dubbed the 'Mong' was never a worry for me and I was very proud to be part of the OTC dominated team. You all made me very welcome and im still shocked at the honour of Ellie asking me along for the expedition.
Thank you Tom for your leadership and ability to always keep morale up. Unexpectedly for me my cyclying on busy roads was less than proficient so Tom taught me the obvious importance of looking both ways (believe it or not I never did remember to be careful - my mong personality made a great appreance at road junctions!) I can now accuratly point out a position on a map with a blade of grass rather than my 1:50000 finger thanks to Rob's teachings. The importance of properly squared away kit was introduced to me aswell and in heavy downpours and cold evenings the knowledge that warm kit was easily accessible bought me huge statisfaction. I feel people reading this may think 'well duh' obviously it should be at the top of the pannier bags but having never done an OTC excercise or spent time in the field like the others had it didnt occur to me at all that kit should be positioned so miticulously. Thanks Rob and Ellie for your teachings! By the end of the trip I got a few remarks out about Rob's slow progress in the mornings after I had managed to square away my kit away first. A small sense of cheeky pride glowed inside me before I was reminded of my Mong status moments later by knocking over a cup of tea or being reminded of nearly hitting a car the day before. Rob was a very polite and well humoured tent mate, massive pleasure sharing the same canvas with you for the past few weeks.
The highlights of the trip are hard to pin point. There are so many - most days something memorable happened. Unkel, the night out in Mainz and our sighting of the first hills off the Rhine are up there. No day was a chore, once the usual stiffness in our legs loosened, cycling everyday was never monotonous and always bought surprises. The time Dave spent with us was a great week and our spell of D&V is very memorable, so was the 14% incline hill I managed to drag myself up on the last day. The unforgetable team effort Ellie played in getting me up the long slog of the 7% 4km hill on the 12th of August was amazing. Ellie's compassion for a healthy team was evident throughout the whole trip and meant a lot to me. You were a hero that morning mate.
Traveling always brings people together and forces a bond. The bond of friendship that grew between us four in the last month needed little forcing and it was a sincere honour and pleasure for me to be part of the team. Im so proud I took part in this expedition, 900 odd miles cycled from home to help raise money for people and families of those in the forces through SSAFA. Onwards and Upwards we went together as team Bavaria for an unforgettable summer.
We've all got the shits. Charlotte particularly badly with fully blown D&V. Rob and myself have the D, but the V doesn't appear to be very far away.
Ellie is also in a shit state, without having yet acheived either D or V, but wishes she will do.
We've left Charlotte in the youth hostel to purge herself while the rest of us ventured back in to Ulm to get a blog post and some admin done. The blog post has taken longer than expected because we've all had to dart to the toilet and back continuously. I think we're pushing our limit on the 3 and half hours we've spent in this Cafe desimating their toilet. That said we have paid our way in coffees that have only resurged minutes later.
The good news is that its enforced a rest day upon us, as Bavaria and Wertach is probably within two or three days cycle and we have no idea whats going to happen when we get there so early for our Adventure Training.
Depending on how long our little D&V spell lasts - we maybe here for a while...
Morning came and so did the hill. 7% for 4km...Cheeky
Moving tentatively out of the campsite, we rolled down the hill that brought us to the junction with the 7% incline, that we had pinged the previous day. With shouts of "see you at the top", we set into it with myself snapping a quick picture of the sign just for proof...
I caught up early with the girls who were making good progress in the right direction, up! Ellie was guarding Charlotte's rear from the oncoming traffic with her high vis vest. Which now harbours a smell not even a mother could love...
Moving past them, I found Tom a hundred meters or so up the road. We continued as one up the hill, stopping briefly at some well placed roadworks at about the 2km mark; a welcome break. Continueing the climb I took the lead , with Tom matching me by 20m for the rest of the way.
The sight of the tree line breaking before us meant only one thing...the top! Legs burning and a big sense of relief, myself and Tom were both mirrored in our sense of achievement.
Tom felt a little bit too euphoric in getting to the top, and promptly threw up on the side of the road...good effort!
Cheering in the girls,who had equally put everything into getting up that hill we briefly took on water before setting off toward Blaubeuren. Oh and the view from the top was one of the most underwhelming sights I have seen...but there we are.
The landscape between us and our destination looked undulating but not overly daunting; but then with a map lacking contour lines you can never really tell when you rely solely on the occasional spot height. We cycled on...
As it turned out it wasn't the hang out that we had perhaps feared, with what looked like parts of Wiltshire flying by as we ate up the km.
Stopping in Zaningen, for the now infamous lunch. We ate in the only gasthaus open in town. Pork Corden Bleu....6 euros....winner....maybe not...more of that later.
Rest of the day after lunch was filled with good cycling fuelled by the hearty lunch. Myself at the front taking the wind allowed some moments of speeding to occur through the towns. The route allowed us this luxury due to its relatively flat nature toward Blaubeuren.
Eurphoric at one point, I spied an 8% gradient sign for 2km....superb....oh and its down....wowzer! The call was to tuck in and off we went, see you at the bottom.
Reaching a speed of 67km/h at one point, I had a calm moment of realisation that should my bike decide to have a fit I am as good as gone. Most likely sliding serenely into the oncomning traffic. Tom also got an indicated speed of 45mph, so we definatly were going for it...
...this downhill section was capped off by an alpine-esq tunnel in which we acted like small children shouting to hear the echos.
Beautiful scenery all around, especially the limestone crags which looked ace for climbing over...that stage is still to come down south.
Blaubeuren was meant to be our stop for the night, but seeing as we had got here at near light speed we decided to push onto Ulm. With help from a local sports shop, run by a very helpful couple, we phoned ahead and booked into a Jugenherberge(youth hostel), complete with a map and written directions. They also described the route which lay ahead of us firstly as ''hilly''!!! but it was a mix up in translation and they decided that they meant NOT hilly....ok!?
They were right, the route was flat, through a pictuesque valley.
Using what one local described as a 'very crude map' we cycled around trying to find the youth hostel. Eventually Tom got some concrete instructions and it was found not far away. All stinking to high heaven, thanks to the hills earlier that day we got ourselves sorted....the three S's. Tom and I were down in the bunker-esq basement, whilst the girls had a 1st floor pad.
No dinner at the Youth Hostel meant we taxied it down into Ulm, which turned out to be a amalgamation of medievil and ultra modern archictecture. Dinner was well worth the trip down...mostly due to the food, but also to the fantastically athletic waitress they had employed.
A few beers later and lightning in the sky told us to go home...taxi back in the pouring rain.
Tights(which had been worn at dinner, under trousers), protein and bed...for what turned out to be a most interesting night...
Departed our extremely expensive campsite with ominious gray clouds filling the sky. Around the corner from the campsite, and two minutes into our days cycle, the heavens unleashed. And boy oh boy did it rain. As the going was flat, the pace increased. It rained with such verosity that the droplets stung the skin as we aqua-planed down the gopping roads.
Cyclists find all sorts of strange and wonderful places to take cover from the rain, especially sub-ways and under-passes. With steamed up cycling glasses, poor lighting and generally poor visibility - it made for some hold your breath moments.
Eventually the rain subsided on the outskirts of Pforzheim, but the hills had arrived. Being the first real hills since England - it took us all by suprise. Ellie had apparently forgotten how to breathe and was hyper-ventilating by the top of it close to tears. Charlotte got off and pushed. I stopped, frequently, cursing my chosen lifestyle of cigarettes and beer. Upon reaching the top, my cursing then turned to the fresh faced Rob who had made it up in one.
I say again...all morning, If not still wet from the rain, we were totally soaked in sweat.
But what goes up must come down - and 4km flashed by at 30 miles an hour into the city. We found a German version of a Kebab house on the high-street, ordered some pizza and promptly took off all our wet kit, and sat it out to dry in the middle of the high-street. The usual "What the fuck are they doing?" stares from bus drivers and the local populus; but we were content half naked, with our kit drying out and pizza in our mouths.
Picking up the Wurm river on the southern side of Pforzheim, the cycling improved. The scenerey was phenominal and cycling along side the Wurm, the incline was not too bad. The Black Forest Mountains are beautiful.
Due to the limited number of campsites on our route since leaving the Rhine, we had our first wild camp. Possibily illegally, not too sure on the specifics of German Camping Laws. If so, we were compromised on numerous occasions by the locals and no body showed up to tell us off. We embraced the Army Training Green mentality and took nothing but photos and left nothing but footprints.
Sleep came quickly, even with my over-active imagination of being woken up by the barrel of a farmer's shotgun poking through my tent the following morning. It didn't happen.
Day Twenty Three
Whilst packing up camp in the morning, the sound of a a vehicle coming down our track perked us all up. Then we saw it. A Mercades combi-van crawling towards us, whilst we were quite blatently packing up from having camped the night before.
As one a story was created that we had merely stopped for breakfast. The combi-van crawled closer, and with a kurt wave after we had hurriedly moved all out kit out it's path - the driver continued on his way, quite evidently not giving a shit about possibly illegal sleep over.
Kit on the our bikes, and a quick check to make sure the bikes were still in order we set off towards Boblingen. Twang. Fuck. Taking Ians advice and Boblingen being a mere 7km away, we taped the broken spoke on to the nearest servicable one and cracked on. Twang. Fuck. Another boken spoke.
Twang. For fucks sake. A third broken spoke.
Reaching a bike shop in the centre of Boblingen, we soon realised they were unable to help us and my bike. Not enough staff and it would take ages to true my severely shagged wheel. Being told there was another bike shop in another part of town, the team set up camp in an itallian restaurant while I jumped in a taxi with my bike to the other shop.
One near crash due to a particularly pretty lady walking down the street later, and the 3.50 euro on the metre suddenly jumping to 10 for the hardship of my bike being in the back, I reached a cycling Mecca.
Walking in and dramatically throwing my bike on the floor in is various bits, the staff - all keen cyclists - rushed over with looks of shock on their faces. Once again, due to a high number of on-going repairs, the bike couldn't be fixed until Wednesday. Explaining my situation, they fitted the best back wheel that they could offer and put new tape on my handlebars. Awesome. Even though the damage my end was 169 euros.
A massive thanks to the team at the Bike shop - I will whack the name up later because its on a card in the youth hostel we're residing in - but honestly, very keen to help a cyclist in need, and very professional in their nature.
With the bike fixed up, I cycled the 3km back to the rest of the team for some lunch.
Leaving Boblingen, with an suspicion of untrust towards my new back-wheel. We got lost. Very lost. Boblingen is on par with San-Fransico with its fucking hills. Various locals gave us various directions, both up, down and around the hill on which Boblingen sits. One particularly helpful local set us on our way with a map which he had given us.
An awesome cycle to Aichtal where we once again were forced to wild camp. Climbed a bastard of a hill to get to a super market, but found some dead ground near a forest block and some cultivated fields to set up camp for the evening.
Compromised - again - once by a man walking a dog, whom muttered something in german before continuing in his dog walk - which we assumed he meant we should have camped round the corner because it was nicer and another time by 3 girls horse riding. Our carefully chosen out of view camping spot turned out to be a bridle way.
As night loomed, the distant grunt of heavy vehicles grew stronger and stronger. Then the UFO lights of a combine harvester and its support tractor appeared through the tree line and began harvesting the adjacent field.
Worryingly, we had pitched up right next to another cornfield. Literally with the flaps of our tents brushing the crops. Cracking some cylume sticks, turning on head torches and making lots of noise we hoped that the combine harvester driver had made note of our campsite and we hoped our nights camping would not turn into our own version of the Boursin advert.
Again sleep came quickly, even with an over-active imagination of being woken up by the combine-harvester eating it's way through the canvas of our tents, only to be eaten by German's who enjoy coco pops for breakfast some weeks later. Bollocks to it, we were tired.
Day Twenty Four
Awoke, alive, not having been eaten by a combine harvester. The mixture of foot powder and slug trails made my tent look like I'd had a particularly good evening the night before. I personally had to flick 15 slugs off my tent, the team also removing a similar number of theirs.
A predicement - due to the small nature of the day - do we take the challenging, hilly but possibily beautiful route to Bad Urach or the somewhat easier flatter route, getting to the campsite in quick time. Us boys wanted the to make a day of it, the girls didn't see the point. Re-affirming the team effort of the whole expedition we decided the easier route was the better option as it kept everyone happy. I was in a particularly shit mood - so was listening to music plodding along at the back of the group for the most of the day.
Stinking from two days without a shower, we aimed for a campsite on the eastern side of Bad Urach. Upon entering Altdorf and having climbed a hill (apparently - I can't remember any more - we've been up lots and lots of hills now) Some road works confused us for a while - doubly so when we discovered the bridge we wanted to cross was also closed for maintence. Asking a local for advice, we discovered a foot bridge that we could get across the river and continue on our way.
Entered Bad Urach, we found a wonderful campsite with a river running along side it. Took the opportunity to go for a dip to help the muscles recover. The water was cystal clear but colder than an eskimo's nose.
The following morning we spent swimming and relaxing by the lake. Due to the somewhat chilly nature of the breeze across the open expanse of water, Ellie negotiated myself be rowed back to shore by a young inquisitive boy. Upon reaching sore and not having been beaten up by the childs father, we dozed in the sun before begrudgingly packing up our kit and setting off for the day.
A supposedly short day – 35 miles and a whole bunch of German farms and cycle paths later we once again found ourselves lost in an unfamiliar city. Karlsruhe. Noticing a sign for a Camping-platz in the city centre – and a brief cycle through Karlsruhes redlight district – we followed the signs. And followed the signs. Got lost following the signs. Found some more signs.
A good 10km later, we reached the camp site. Set up camp – food on, blog done and picked up some emergency rations for the mountains.
To misquote George W. Bush “The mountains on the horizon are directly overhead”
Well rested??... we pushed on. Having taken a day off it was deemed we were then to make up for it. A long day ahead beckoned.
Another overcast day of yellow roads, joyous. Through the vineyards and over relatively smooth track the riding was pretty easy going and the distance mounted quickly. Having arrived at yet another cycle route sign we were confronted by a dilemma:
Worms both ways. 11km left and 12km right??!!
Queuing for the level-crossing, a man on a moped saw our predicament. Realising our confusion he left his place in the queue and gestured for us to follow him. Zipping through the back alleys we made a sterling effort to keep up with his motor eventually bringing us to the cycle path we were after. Grabbing a quick photo before we were back on our way to Worms.
After the mere 97km we arrived at said camping-platz overlooking the Rhine (not the first time I hasten to add!) Ludwigshafen this time. Having radioed the camping-meister from the gate were designated a space; and with shower tokens we were four happy campers; especially Rob who watched in awe as a Blackhawk helicopter flew over the campsite and off into the sunset. Bed.
Day Twenty
A new day dawned over the Rhine and Team Cycle Bavaria prepped themselves yet again for a day on the saddle. Wet and dry lube out of the way and with kit packed, we bid farewell to the campsite and the Rhine for a little bit. Perhaps a welcome relief...or just a change of scenery?
I had seen a few days previously that at this point on the map we were only a few km away from the Hockenheim Ring, the German national racing circuit. So like any young child who had grown up watching Formula 1 with their Father every second Sunday, I steered the group into escorting me to the track for a look about.
Remembering what had happened to Ewan McGregor and Charlie Boorman when they did the Long Way Down, with their lap of Silverstone race circuit; I thought that we may be in for the same treatment. Riding in toward the circuit, through the Hart Forest-and past the memorial to Jim Clark we knew that we were heading in the right direction. Eventually finding the circuit we rode about a bit trying to find a possible way to blag ourselves onto the race track.
Alas, after talking to a lovely (but festively plump) German behind the counter at the motor museum, the closest we could get to the track was up in the stands. For me this was ace, so up I rushed, running hard up the stairs to glimpse out at what I imagined would be a gleaming piece of F1 history. In reality it was not that great as the track was getting reset after the recent F1 weekend.
Pictures taken, we pushed off on what we though was a good bearing toward our campsite. Having seen the exit signs we turned right, only to find ourselves outside an Autobahn service station after coming up its relief road. Having turned about we pushed though the woods that surrounded the track, picking up the odd marked cycle path and relying heavily on the inbuilt INS (following your nose)
The rest of the days ride consisted of pushing into various german towns, en route to our campsite outside of Weiher. A dilemma cam though when passing Reiligen, as we stumbled across a campsite with a lake. Flipping the coin and asking to Queen if we should crack on or not, it was decided that we should go and investigate (even though the Queen said to crack on). No room was the answer...so that proved to us that the Queen is always right and we pushed on through the countryside to Weiher, where upon we found an equally amazing campsite also equipped with a lake. Brilliant!
Curry dinner was once again superbly cooked up by Charlotte, with a little help from myself and Tom in the form of frying broccoli!?
Cycled from Bacharach to Mainz with the promise of a rest day the following day, on the map, it also appeared to be a fairly short day. Our short day, turned into a mini adventure. Smashed through the kilometres with Welsh accents and Charlotte chasing a cyclist with a yellow backpack along dyke roads.
Our first impression of Mainz was, quite frankly, a shit hole. The outskirts of German cities are very industrial and without meaning to cause offence, often appear to be lower class. As we cycled deeper into Mainz, our impression was way off. Mainz is a beautiful river front city. Gorgeous Victorian town houses and further away from the city centre – cobbled streets with a very European feel.
Cycled through the city and out the other side before we knew it... Hmmm. It would appear that we had gone a little be too far in our search for a campsite! Rob approached a local and in his (much better than the rest of us) but still pigeon German, asked for directions to the illusive campsite. Having conversed with the local we were directed towards a Youth Hostel. As the gentleman left I asked, in English, for a good “disco-tec” and after all of Robs efforts the man replied in perfect English “No clubs tonight – it being a Tuesday – but the bars will be good!”
Naturally the Youth Hostel was up a hill so forwards, onwards and upwards. All hanging and desperate for refuge, we reached the Youth Hostel which was of course full. The woman on reception seeing the desperation in our eyes after a 75km “short day” got on the internet and found us a campsite that she insisted was close.
Being given directions, we once again set off. Her directions simply sent us down the hill, then up again, on a different side. Within minutes we were once again temporarily unfamiliar with our surroundings and phoning the campsite for further directions simply got us more confused. Finding another campsite on the map, we retraced some peddles and crossed the Rhine to witness the glorious sun setting behind the city.
On the other side, we once again had to ask for directions towards a campsite. Then some more people for some more directions. Finally a couple escorted us to a camping site...
Fucking great. Using our initiative, and Charlottes Scottish accent we decided it best to put our blag hats on and give it a shot only to be met by the gates of a Stazi prison over the water.
Fortunately there was another campsite about 500 metres down a track which turned out to be one of the Punk-esque “hill-billy” campsites which got my “something isn’t right about this place” feeling on the go. Collectively, we decided to bug out.
Having removed ourselves from scary-ville, I made a Daddy call and phoned the old man to scrounge some cash for a hotel back in Mainz. Obligingly, he agreed and we set off to in the direction of the bridge to get back into the city.
Literally a couple of metres before crossing the Rhine, a German voice rang out behind us, amongst the gibberish the words “Camping-plaz” perked up all our ears and we were given some directions to a real campsite. Awesome. With it getting dark we eventually made it to campsite and set up camp. Earlier in the day whilst the others did the daily food shop on the northern side of Mainz, I had ventured out for some fags and found an AlchoMarkt in my quest. You can imagine the smile on my face.
Upon arriving at the campsite a litre of Bombay Saffire and two litres of Swepps Tonic was produced. Smiles all round and smash very much on. A taxi into Mainz - an Irish pub filled with Canadian pilots, hippies, German metal heads and drug dealers later, we returned in one piece to get some sleep ready for our day out in Frankfurt.
Day Eighteen
Woke up bleary eyed to say the least. Managed to throw together a fry-up on a camping stove (no mean feat) with a siding of painkillers and rehydration salts. Eventually got ourselves in order to get the train to Frankfurt. Cycled a few kilometres to the station and spent a good half an hour trying to figure out how the ticket machine worked, to no avail. As any decent tourist would do, we got on the train without paying.
After the novelty of not cycling somewhere wore off and hangovers very much in full swing we arrived in Frankfurt. The familiar sign of a Starbucks drew us in for coffee in the hope of some hangover relief. Coffees drunk we soon realised we were in yet another city with absolute no idea where we were.
With compression tights, protein complex and a laundrette in mind we set about the streets looking for loot – still not really having any idea where in a huge city we would begin to look for the sort of specialist shops.
We soon came across a crazy German shop stocking all sorts of muscle and training enhancing potions. Some lost in translation communications later, we remerged into the streets of Frankfurt with our desired protein products and not the “sexual enhancers” we nearly bought by mistake.
Pretty much next to the protein store was an enormous sports shop with everything under the sun - except compression tights. Bollocks. Next on the agenda as food, so obviously the Subway we were looking for led us to the specialist sport shops and compression tights. Still no Subway and a collective £350 spent on compression tights, we found a Burger King.
I hear you wonder what compression tights are? In the words of Miss Coyle “they reduce the effect of lactates that reside in the muscles after exercise, in other words stop us becoming so stiff the following morning”.
Whilst both Rob and I agree that the compression tights do in fact stop the aches and pains the following morning, the stiffness is somewhat debatable. After a couple of days experience of sleeping with compression tights on, the end-result is always a morning-glory of near biblical proportions. But yeah, the leg muscles are less stiff for sure.
If someone could please tell us how to ask for a laundrette in German, that would be awesome. After traipsing around Frankfurt all afternoon, we were still none the wiser as to where we could find one. Becoming inventive with our language, the term ‘wash salon’ seemed to click with a local and we found the laundrette, right next the station where we had started looking so many hours before. Washing done – we headed back to Mainz as dictated by our hangovers for dinner. Food and sleep.
Thank you to all that have supported us this far and helped us reach £1100 for SSAFA Forces Help.
Your support has encouraged us through some physically and mentally challenging situations, and will continue to do so.
The Team
xx
Day Sixteen
Another morning with a bike shop in mind as we headed into Koblenz, over the Mosel river. We had a a lucky strike with a substantial camp shop, and were able to pick up the couple of sporks and mugs we've been after for a while! We bought Charlotte a bright yellow one, just to make sure. With a bike shop opposite, we were able to ask for an opinion on Tom's infamous rear wheel; the one Tom had condemned to replacing. It turns out that his back wheel appears to be one of the best in Germany. As far as we have discovered...and another bike shop later, we are still being convinced of this opinion. Boring and trued again.
Lunch came in the form of a 36 euro MacDonalds meal with potential internet...but there wasn't any. We ate and cracked on.
Having been told about a newly layed cycle path on the western bank of the Rhine, and that this was also the prettiest cycling we made the decision to continue to follow the river as opposed to make a vector across to save distance and time.
Probably a wise move in hindsight as who knows what lurks beyond the valley's walls. However, this yellow brick road turned out to be less than gleaming and the hindsight took a while to come. With a narrow muddy tow path followed by a a few kilometres of dodgey gravel with intermittent cobbles. Spirits could have been higher and saddles softer to say the least.
Eventually we discovered the delights of the efficient German road laying that we had heard so much about ...approximately 200 miles into Germany. It was like the rain had cleared, our arses did not hurt anymore and our tyres ran true. H.M. The Queen said crack on, so we obliged.
Rob took the wind and we all followed obligingly. With the cycle path following the sweeping bends of the river and the wind behind us, we upped the pace. Some say they heard the sonic boom as far as Frankfurt; more realistically it was Tom breaking wind again. Luckily he was at the back.
As we reached a top speed of 47kph, the gap between the boys and girls began to grow as we tried to sustain it. Another benefit of Tom being at the back was that he was able to close this gap by reducing the effects of the apparent wind.
By alternating the front man to maintain momentum, it enabled a fast and aggressive assault to be launched on Boppard. With the Main Effort being to take and hold the Best Western Hotel (Tom has expensive taste, as we stopped for a drink there!) Minor resistence encountered from the local populus, when charlotte's ice cream caused offence to their Helga-esque employee. Awesome international relations...
Coyle then saw the bill...
...I suppose it was pretty though. Maybe not 5 euros a coke pretty!
Then through the wealthy picturesque riverside towns of the Rhine on the comendable cycle path. We took the last 10km or so as a bit of a cool down, to save ourselves the agony the follwing morning.
Reaching the campiste next to the Rhine, a potential swimming opportunity was called off due to unfavourable temperatures and the sun going behind a cloud. It looked like showers, food, blog and bed.
More rain...and trains serenaded us to sleep...bliss
Having packed up camp and set off - all still friends - we headed towards Koblenz. 3km into our days trip we entered into the town of Unkel to look for some food.
My knees having been giving me some trouble and the supports that I have been wearing have been pinching, leaving sores on the back of my legs. No major dramas, but Ellie valiently gave up her tubey-grip to see if it prevented the pinching. Unfortunately for her, it does.
Placing my bike upon the ground to put the tubey-grip on, the ominous twang rang out from my back wheel. Fuck. Another broken spoke. On a fucking Sunday where the whole of the fucking continent shuts down for Gods day of rest.
If you've ever watched the film Shrek, you will know the look upon our faces as a precession/parade thing marched past us with my kit sprawled all over the road, bike upside down, wheel off and covered in oil:
Rob began to sing "We are Unkel - we are open" after our embarresment had died down and the presession have left. Much to our amusement.
Upon seeing our struggle, a few of the locals stopped to offer their two-cents worth. In particular, a previous King with a Jam-Jar lid as a medalion and a Burger King hat as a crown.
And a woman named Ulla who had a friend who was a keen cyclist with the tools to fix my bike, but was currently in Belgium. Awesome.
This gets more bizarre - trust me.
Having butchered Jess (Dave's Bike) a few days previously I had a supply of spare spokes, which we managed to get fitted to the bike. The spoke tool on my multi-tool was cumbersome and useless. Forunately the King returned with a spoke tool and breifly played with my bike, improving the alignment of the wheel. Hearing music in the background the King had to leave us, giving us the spoke tool to further fix the bodge-job we had begun to get the bike on the road again.
After a while I had managed to get the spokes to the point of alignmewnt where the wheel would spin freely - and Ulla had stopped by to tell us that it was Saints Day in the town and there was a celebration commencing. We were invited to go and have a beer and wait for the, currently in Belgium cycling enthusiast, to return having agreed to check out my bike.
However, with the wheel in a fit state to cycle we decided to push on to Koblenz and get it sorted on the Monday. We decided we ought to stop by the party to say thank you to the King and have a beer anyway.
The celebration was set out similar to a typical fayre-ground in the UK, rides and food stalls with the exception of a marquee to the rear. As we entered an English speaking man noticed Ellie's SSAFA Forces Help vest and said "What, SSAFA? What are you doing for SSAFA?"
Ellie told the gentleman what we were doing and what had happened to my bike. The gentleman then introduced himself as Colonel Rex Stephenson of the Royal Signals, having servered from 1962-1991. He was very familiar with the great work that SSAFA does for ex-servicemen and their familes.
Having relocated to Unkel, at some point, and also been a previous King he offered us a deal - we publicise Unkel on our blog and he would try and help raise some money for our cause. We agreed. Col. Rex approached a table hosting the junior committee, filled with Kings and Queens of the town - told them our story and our cause and raised a generous 90 Euros on our behalf.
Col. Rex also introduced us to The Burgermiester. My immediate thoughts were the obvious - he cooks awesome burgers. As word began to spread of our adventure, a local journalist approached us for an interview and pictures.The Burgermiester having been positioned in the centre of the picture (he must really cook really, really good burgers) turns out is the Mayor of Unkel.
So, there we are - having our picture taken with the Mayor, interviewed by a journalist and begining to feel the affects of all the booze we are being given. Surreal to say the least.
Turns out the Kings are appointed after having won the yearly shooting competition, and the Queens are their wives. The greatest thing about the celebration, other than the fantastic hospitality of the locals and the gorgeous town of Unkel was the fact that they saw the humour within their traditions and embraced it. It was a deeply insightful and gracious thing to have experienced. Thank you very much to all those that stopped to help us.
For the town of Unkel it was a particularly special Saints Day, as they were also hosting the Flag-Waving championships. A local tradition of the area. During the 30 Year War, Potentional Officers would wave flags to communicate and as a source of amusement and thus began the tradition.
Flag-Waving consists of a contender standing with both feet in a circle no bigger than a foot in diametre, and must spin and wave the flag without dropping it or stepping outside of the drawn circle.
Having witnessed a few of the contenders, and very much feeling the effects of the alcohol, we decided it best to leave.
Once again, a huge huge thanks to all the residence of Unkel, Col. Rex Stephenson, the previous King, Ulla and the Aviation Journalist who sent us well on our way with his local knowledge and the further insight into the route to come. Think Mountains.
Strange morning!
Please please please check out: http://www.unkel.de/ for further information on the town and its history.
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