Honestly, I didn’t really know what to do with my day off in Luxembourg. I am not a particularly good “tourist” and, for the most part, have little interest in looking around historical buildings. Once I’d stripped and cleaned my bike, I went for a ride around the city and called it a day. I was apprehensive for the next stage, traversing across the southwestern corner of Germany to Munich. It’s almost laughable now but, back then, I thought a 100km day was a big one and I was about to do six in a row. Scary stuff.
Despite not even being a week in by this point, packing my bike was becoming routine. The lesser-used items had reorganized themselves and migrated to the bottom of my bags. Everything had a place, not only so I could find something in a hurry, but because I simply didn’t have room for lazy packing. Aside from my clothes, the bulk of my kit fitted into two 16L panniers. With most things being an awkward or irregular shape, when you found an arrangement that worked you stuck with it.
Leaving Luxembourg first involved a trip up the “Pfaffenthal Panoramic”, a 70m free-standing elevator, that transports you back up to the level of the main city. Novel but fun, unlike the cobbled streets that came afterwards. I bounced along until suddenly I was back, winding my way through green fields and vineyards on little country lanes. Crossing the Mosel River everything got very German. I was greeted by a brass band in full swing accompanied by many trucks selling cold beer. What a lovely welcome.
The funny thing about Europe and its Schengen free movement zone is that you can sometimes lose track of which country you are actually in. The only clues being road signs that you become particularly in tune with. This is how I passed through a slither of France, only realizing once I’d left.
The following day I passed through Kaiserslautern. An American town in all but name, thanks to the vast Ramstein Air Base located just outside. The streets roared with huge pickups and the cafes and restaurants hummed with American voices. It was strangely pleasant, I was still adjusting to being linguistically isolated. We often take it for granted, but not understanding what is being said around you can leave you feeling detached. However, this was an adjustment I had to make as my next English-speaking country would be Australia on the opposite side of the planet.
The rest of the day was spent passing through one of the largest old-growth forests in Europe before descending into the Rhine River valley and the utter chaos of a large family campsite on a holiday weekend. The drinks were flowing and the music went on late. I didn’t get much sleep that night.
Crossing the Rhine the next day I cruised on, slightly ahead of schedule. That night I pitched up on the top of a hill overlooking a town. A very peaceful, if slightly eerie spot. Later, at dusk, the silence was broken by the guttural screaming of a wild boar. I only saw a glimpse of it as it charged through the woods but that was cool with me, it had quite literally caught me with my pants down. Not a great defensive position against an animal known to be aggressive to humans.
Dropping down into town the next day I found myself chatting with an ex-British Airways pilot in a cafe. This was until a woman, presumably the owner came up and explained using my new friend as a translator that someone had complained about my smell… I, being totally mortified, accepted the takeaway box and left as Mr BA attempted to argue with the woman. Not a great start to a day and it wouldn’t get much better. Being Sunday everything was closed and I was holding out for the city of Stuttgart to resupply. Arriving I found this to be hopeless and had to settle for a very large doner kebab. Without going into detail, this is not recommended and seriously hampered performance for the rest of the day. I found a campsite that night and gave everything a thorough wash.
The following day started with a pretty spicey climb but other than that I don’t remember anything of the fifth day of this stretch. By day six I had Munich in my sights and, as with most final stretches, it near enough did itself. Hats off to the city planners, Munich was a breeze to ride into and it’s not often you say that. A good cycle path navigates you through the outer industrial districts and into the heart of the city where I would be staying for three nights.
It was my second or maybe third time in Munich. I love the city but this time was a little different. I had the pleasure of running into a group of Aussie boys at the hostel bar. I need say no more, and I can’t, as my memories of Munich go blank shortly after this. It was a fun few days but not conducive to recovery. Maybe this is why I would find crossing the Austrian Alps so hard. I can’t be sure, but it didn’t help.
