Mount Everest

A beautiful sunrise glistens in the dewy grass. The golden yellow waters of the Danube flow lazily past us. The nearby bridge arches over the ancient river. No engine noise disturbs the gentle air at this early hour. Birds chirp in the nearby branches. A hare hops across the meadow, stops, straightens up and wonders about the only human dwelling in its territory. We pack up the tent, which is wet with dew, and leave the peaceful place.

In the picturesque little town of Vohburg, we buy a few rolls and sit down under a tree on the market square. We enjoy the lively atmosphere. “Look at that! Our guest from last night is standing over there,” I say. “Yes, he’s watching us,” answers Tanja. A little later, he strolls past us with his suspiciously rattling plastic bag. “Servus!” he greets us. “Servus!” we reply. A passer-by stops next to our bikes. . When he finds out where we are going, he is delighted. “This is fantastic. If you have time, it’s the best thing you can do. Just ride and enjoy life. Let others do what they want. You don’t need a lot of money to be happy.”

My tick bites itch like Harri. So far, however, no red halo has formed, which is why I am confident that I have not been struck down by the terrible disease. In the worst case, I would have to see a doctor. Lyme disease can be treated with antibiotics in the early ward.

After a satisfying breakfast on the park bench, we follow the Danube embankment. Gravel and crushed stone mean we don’t make quite as much progress. Suddenly we are standing in front of the Auxiliary Fort Abusina, a Roman military station from the 1st century AD. A plaque states that the fort was built to secure the southern bank of the Danube. The location was cleverly chosen at the confluence of the Abens and Danube rivers, as several roads met here at Eining and the Limes ended north of the Danube. “I didn’t think we’d come across so much culture here. It’s a really good mix of antiquity and the Middle Ages,” I say as we roll down the hill to the Eining ferry station.

Many cyclists take advantage of the beautiful day at the ferry station. They drink the tasty beer from the nearby Weltenburg monastery, eat fresh pretzels and smoked trout.

When we arrive in Weltenburg, we put our cargo trains next to the other two-wheelers and sit down in the overcrowded beer garden. With the summer temperatures and the good mood, the monk’s brew tastes fantastic. “It’s only three kilometers to the campsite,” I say, whereupon we order another half pint. While Tanja looks after our possessions, I visit the monastery museum. I start philosophizing about life with a monk who crosses my path. We are so engrossed in our conversation that I almost forget to look at the museum. “What can you do?” says the monk. “In this day and age, it’s no longer safe in the economy either. I’d rather stay here. I studied theology. What could I do with it out there in the private sector? I could become a priest here. But I don’t know if that would change my situation. Not everything in the Benedictines is as you would imagine. There are a few things that are not quite right here either,” he says. “You need goals. That is important. Everyone needs goals, including you. They know that,” I reply. “If you believe in your goals, really believe in them, you can achieve them. I know that and they know that too,” I add, to which the monk nods his head thoughtfully. “Faith moves mountains, but what do I tell them? You are a monk and faith is part of your everyday life. I think you should have goals. Maybe it’s good to become a priest,” I say. 20 minutes later, we thank each other for the fruitful conversation.

As I’ve already paid the entrance fee, I now visit the museum. A promotional film about the oldest monastery beer in the world whets my appetite. As soon as I leave the museum, we order another beer. Tanja and I forget the time and the supposed mountain in front of us. We set off in the early evening to look for the campsite. Many visitors block our way. I carefully press my wheel bell. A woman looks at me reproachfully. “That’s not a church bell, it’s a bicycle bell,” I try to joke, to which the woman’s gaze punishes me even more. “You’re not talking to anyone now,” Tanja warns me. Leave the talking to me,’ she says, to which I just laugh heartily. As soon as we have left the monastery brewery behind us, the climb forces us out of our saddles. The ascent gets steeper and steeper, and we have to throw ourselves against the massive weight of the bikes with all our strength. “Just hang in there,” I whisper to myself and have to giggle for the first few minutes at the mountain building up in front of me. It only takes a few moments and the giggles get stuck in my throat. The noble monk substance rushes onto my forehead and leaves my body through all my pores. The hill develops smoothly into a Mount Everest. Gigantic is an understatement, it races through my brain. My muscles start to twitch. They literally cramp up. Again and again I stop my home on wheels, pull the front and rear brakes to stop the thing from greasing up. Almost spitting my lungs out of my gullet, I lean over the saddle, panting. Spinning tops spin in colorful variations before my eyes. After I can see reasonably clearly again, I look down at Tanja. Reassured, I realize that she is also steadily driving her single harness higher. Another 10 minutes later, there is no sign of the former fun. I sobered up in a flash. Tanja is no different, although she had the foresight to only consume cyclists.

Once you reach the top, you descend along a forest path, only to wind your way back up again immediately afterwards. “Oh, how I despise mountains,” I curse quietly. Back at the top, I hear Tanja’s warning: “Don’t do anything stupid. Slow is faster, especially safer!” “Yes, yes, I’ll be careful,” I reply and let my wheels roll cautiously down the slope. “There’s a road up ahead! I think we should leave the forest path!” I shout to Tanja. A short time later, we are flying down the tarmac with our ears ringing and our eyes watering. Happy and exuberant about the beautiful day, we manage the next 10 kilometers to the camp site in Herrensaal, where we set up our villa on a lush meadow.

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