Storm front
N 48°26'661 E 010°17'957''
Day: 22
Sunrise:
06:09 am
Sunset:
8:35 pm
As the crow flies:
20,40 Km
Daily kilometers:
34,26 Km
Total kilometers:
554.24 Km
Soil condition:
Asphalt
Temperature – Day (maximum):
20 °C
Temperature – day (minimum):
14 °C
Temperature – Night:
10 °C
Latitude:
48°34’130”
Longitude:
010°30’142”
Maximum height:
450 m above sea level
Time of departure:
1:00 p.m.
Arrival time:
5:15 pm
Average speed:
15.01 Km/h
By now we are used to being woken up by the rain. I look gloomily at the tent wall. Our friends Jessy and Pfleidi, who had visited us for a day, set off again yesterday afternoon to visit Venice, one of the most beautiful cities in the world. As well as being in a good mood, they also brought us different cycling shorts. After the first few kilometers, the elastic in my pants was already cutting off my thighs. The important spare film camera was also in her luggage. The other one failed on the second day of our cycle tour.
I think of our friends who are probably already in warm Venice at this hour. Tack, tack, tack, it drips incessantly against our tent canvas, which is already showing the first mildew stains. “Jessy and Pfleidi are probably strolling around St. Mark’s Square right now, licking an ice cream,” I say a little wistfully. “Hm, I’d like it better than lying in this moated castle,” Tanja replies quietly.
Even at 9:00 a.m., the continuous rain has not let up. As the last campers on site, we huddle in our tunnel tent and spoon up our muesli rather joylessly. Hours later, we pedal our bucks along a gravel path. The rain has stopped and we are making good progress in the pleasant temperatures. We only very rarely encounter cyclists. A threatening-looking storm front pushes in front of us like a mountain range. Again and again, thick drops refresh us and tear us away from the liturgy of driving. Nevertheless, we are lucky because the mountains of cloud seem to be fleeing from us.
As unpleasant as autumnal summer may seem to us, it does have its charms. Storks sit clattering their beaks on the church roof in Gundelfingen. Their bizarre silhouettes rise above our heads. In the village of Faimingen, we are surprised by a Roman temple that was dedicated to the Celtic-Roman god Apollo Granus as early as 160 AD. Its strange reconstruction contrasts with the surrounding farmhouses. The dangerous-looking smoke from a power station is literally absorbed by the all-pervasive clouds. Again and again we cross wooded areas. The tires of our bikes make smacking noises and swirl the dirt over our equipment. In Lauingen, the dark skies clear briefly, prompting us to conjure up summer with a cream of ice cream.
The camp site in Dillingen is virtually deserted despite the peak season. We set up our wet home. Before the next rain shower, I use the time to write the short notes about the events and the English update for our website, as I do every day. Then I transfer the photos I took today to the Itronix. While Tanja fires up the stove to prepare a meal for the approaching evening, I clean our bikes which, despite the heavy loads, have brought us this far without any breakdowns. Every few days, the chains must be cleaned, oiled and all bolts checked for tightness. With the incessant shaking, it is easy for them to become loose.
In the course of the late afternoon, more cyclists arrive who seem to have ignored the rain and autumn temperatures. “Hello!” a deep voice snaps me out of my work. A Nuremberg club fan kicks his warhorse powerfully across the pitch. The club flag is emblazoned on his carrier. He pitches his tent next to an electricity box. With visible pride, he lifts a small television out of the saddlebag and immediately plugs it into the nearby socket. Until 11 p.m., we are bombarded with the strangest comments that penetrate our thin tent wall like wafting fragments of conversation.
