Dream landscape, dream weather, big muscles

Woke up feeling dizzy today. “Can’t be from overexertion, can it?” I ask Tanja. “I’m sure it’s safe. I was a bit dizzy yesterday too,’ she reassures me. After the first rays of sunshine have licked away the morning mist, the blue sky promises a beautiful day. We pack our steeds and pedal them into the center of the three-river metropolis. Passau is considered one of the most beautiful cities in Germany. Its lively history can be traced back to 500 BC. It’s not hard to imagine why the Celts settled in this naturally gifted place. No wonder they were driven out by the then world power Rome 2000 years ago or that the Bavarians took over the rule of the last Roman fortress in the 6th century. The city with its glorious history is both fascinating and impressive. We push our bikes through the alleyways in amazement. We would love to stay a few days to enjoy the flair, but we have to move on.

We follow the cycle path on the left side of the Danube. We make good progress without any inclines. Some sections of the path have already been cleared of mud and debris from the flood. Steep slopes form the southern edge of the Bavarian Forest. Here, the water of the Danube has eaten up to 300 meters into the hard rock of the low mountain range. We enjoy the pleasant day and the increasingly beautiful landscape. Austria is on the other side of the river. From time to time, bare, bizarre rocks protrude from the mountain slopes, which are densely overgrown with mixed forest. At the village of Engelhartzell we cycle across the border into Austria. The interesting days in Germany are now behind us. Although the same language is spoken in Austria as in Germany, this country also has its own atmosphere, its own people with its own character. We look forward with anticipation to what we can experience here.

We reach the ferry station at Schlögen on the perfectly maintained cycle path, which was once used by horses to pull ships upstream. As the path ends for us here because of a nature reserve, we push our freight trains onto a bike ferry and let ourselves be ferried to the other side of the Danube. A group of pensioners, who had left us behind a few times during the morning, boarded the ferry with us. “They must be Australians,” Tanja muses aloud. “Oh no, they’re from England,” I contradict. “Where you come from?” I ask. “Australia,” an older gentleman answers me. “See, you’re right for once,” Tanja winks at me. “Where are you going?” I ask. We cycle from Passau to Budapest,” we hear in amazement. “To Budapest? You’ve got a great trip ahead of you,” I reply, whereupon we have a lively chat and talk about our camel expedition in Australia. On the other bank, we all roll our two-wheelers off the small wooden boat and say goodbye to the people who have flown halfway around the world to explore the enchanting landscape of the Danube using their own muscle power.

“I’m tired. I think I need a coffee,” yawns Tanja after we have covered over 40 kilometers today and our destination is still a long way off. We want to visit my longtime friend Franz Roithmayr and his wife Maria. They live on a farm in Hacking near Aschach. “Under no circumstances are you allowed to drive past us without staying with us for a few days,” they said. We gladly accept your invitation and look forward to seeing our friends again. “How much further is it? Franz said something about 50 kilometers,” Tanja wants to know. “I think he was wrong. He probably meant kilometers of road and didn’t take into account the meanders of the Danube,” I reply. We enjoy a cappuccino at a cozy farmhouse restaurant right on the banks of the river. Somewhat rested but with burning thighs, we continue. The late afternoon atmosphere is heavenly. A tugboat soon chugs silently down the river beside us. It has almost the same speed as us. Tanja hangs in my slipstream and rides like a machine for the first time since we set off. Only a few more kilometers and the speedometer will exceed the magic limit of 1000 kilometers. Our muscles have become more and more accustomed to the movement, although the weight of the equipment is still a problem. The inflated thighs are now well supplied with blood. However, I have the feeling that I need another 1000 kilometers before they stop behaving like an untamed camel and want to go on strike after 50 daily kilometers. To be honest, the two guys down there seem to me like wild untamed stallions that you have to break in first. So it will take some time before they behave peacefully and do what is asked of them.

The route takes us past castles and palaces that proudly display their walls. Only a few cyclists come towards us. Most people are probably already eating in one of the many guesthouses and hotels at this time of day. Like a Tour de France team, we pedal to Aschach at around 19 kilometers per hour. Once there, my right wrist starts to send out serious pain signals. We left Passau 8 hours ago and the speedometer shows us a new record of 76 kilometers per day. We leave the riverside promenade behind us, follow the road to Hartkirchen and reach the proud and beautiful farm of our friends with the last of our strength. Maria saw us immediately and gave us a warm welcome. We hug and greet each other. “Welcome! Come in! Get some rest. Franz is in the Czech Republic at the moment. He won’t be here until tomorrow evening,” she chats, whereupon we unload our bikes and enter the venerable house.

Church tower bells

After a good meal, we lie in bed full and satisfied. I look out of the large window and watch the clear starry sky. My muscles are whimpering from the exertion of the last few days. Despite our heavily laden bikes, we covered over 220 kilometers in just three days. I hope that we will increase our performance in the coming months and maybe even manage 100 kilometers a day one day. But what the heck. Who determines how much distance we cover and in what time? The main thing is that we arrive safely where we want to go and the main thing is that we have fun during our journey despite the effort and the one or other danger. To be honest, I hope to get even more enjoyment out of the documentation, because it is often more strenuous and requires more discipline than cycling itself.

Despite my tiredness, my thoughts can’t rest. I listen into the night and hear the church bells ringing. Strangely enough, I can still hear the bells 10 minutes later. I listen and listen, spellbound, but the ringing continues. I get up with aching bones and shuffle to the window. I open it and gaze into the night. Funny, it’s as quiet as a mouse out there. I go back to bed and hear the church bells. I begin to doubt whether something is wrong with my ears. “Tanja. Tanja, are you still awake?” I whisper quietly. “Yes. What is it?” “Can you hear the church bells?” “Yes.” “Thank goodness. I thought I had one on my hat. There are no steeples out there and no bells ringing. What do you think it is?” “I have no idea. Please leave me alone. I don’t want to concentrate on that noise. Then I won’t be able to sleep either,” she ends the conversation. Brooding, I get out of bed again, put on my headlamp so as not to disturb Tanja and examine the room. I crawl around on the floor and realize that the strange noise must be coming from the direction of the window. I put my ear to the radiator, turn the control open and closed and am relieved that I have influenced the ringing and thus localized it. Satisfied, I go back to bed. Dongg, dongg, dongg, it continues to ring softly. The disgusting buzzing of a few mosquitoes circles around my head and seems to join in with the bells from the radiator. When it’s still too warm for me and my exhausted body torments me with sweating attacks, I decide to move back into the tent tomorrow.

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