Treasure chest of experiences

The days we spent with our friends were wonderful but very labor-intensive for me. As I mentioned before, writing is often just as exhausting for me as the active time of our expeditions. Sometimes, especially when I’m tired, it takes me hours to put myself back into the situation I experienced. It feels as if my mind is digging through a thick wall of fog whose bottom lies in unreachable depths. When I reach him, it suddenly clears up and I’m part of the story again, back where we were days or sometimes weeks ago. Of course, the less time there is between the experience and my recordings, the better the reproduction. I don’t know if it makes sense if I try to describe some of the experiences and conversations in detail. Often, however, the meaning of a conversation, the wit of a dialog, the tension of a situation or the grace of nature lies in the details. Perhaps comparable to the structure of a flower petal whose fantastic beauty only becomes apparent to us humans on closer inspection. Anyway, I don’t know why I bother to tear our lives apart down to the last detail and then put them back together again with letters. It’s just the way it is and I follow my inner voice. To this day, however, I still struggle with my inner voice, i.e. with myself. Couldn’t I use the time more sensibly?

“What makes more sense?” it then asks in the same breath. “Well, maybe with a bit of lazing around. With sleeping. With making faster progress?” I reply. “You’ll get enough time for your necessary rest periods. Too much lazing around has never done anyone any good. Be glad that you have a job. That you find satisfaction in it and can even tell one or two readers something about the beautiful world that they would otherwise never know. Faster traveling? You’ve got to be joking. You know that speed is not what counts on your trips and expeditions. We’ve tried to make you understand that many times. You won’t experience more with speed. You won’t hear bees buzzing or smell the unique scent of wild herbs in the forest. It’s not the speed that matters, but what you experience. What you feel. What you sense. You will experience infinitely more sitting around the campfire than the best Hollywood movie can show you. It is not traveling on the surface that is important for you, but traveling into the depths of countries, peoples and into the depths of yourself. You do realize that, don’t you?” “Yes, of course. It’s just that it’s so hard to overcome my inner bastard and not just walk away or keep going when difficulties arise. It’s not easy for me to find the discipline to sit down again and again to write down our experiences, to record them in writing. Sometimes it’s just too much for me.” “I see. Take more breaks. Recover in between and when you’re full of energy again, pick up where you left off.” “But then we’ll never get to China. Then it will take us forever to cover reasonable distances.”

“It’s always the same with you. Who decides what a reasonable distance is? Your and your documentation work is just as much a milestone of measured distance as pedaling. You think too much. We, Mother Earth, the deserts or All That Is have told you many times not to worry about getting there. You know that arriving is the end of a journey. You know that the journey of life ends when you arrive. So be happy about your journey. About the skills you have been given to observe closely. Above all, be grateful that you are allowed to move forward without time pressure. The deeper life, i.e. a life away from the surface, will automatically and inevitably be a longer life. It will intensify, intensify or in other words, such a life will feel many times longer and therefore ultimately be longer. Your treasure chest of experiences will fill up from hour to hour, from day to day, creating a wealth that can be compared to nothing. If you were to exchange all your experiences and stories for money, you would be a materialistically rich man, but in your emotional and sentimental world you would be destitute. Share your treasure trove of experiences and stories with people. Don’t be stingy with it. Everything you give you get back. That’s our law.” “Hm, what you’re saying sounds really good. I’m also prepared to write down the stories. I just sometimes think they might be too banal, too boring.” “We’ve already covered that. Nothing is banal or boring. It always depends on the angle you look at it from.” “And why don’t things often go more smoothly? I mean, everything could go smoothly, without difficulties, without hurdles or, as we often say, problems?”

“Don’t forget, life is a cycle with ups and downs. An up and down which in turn is the spice or rather the salt in the soup. Rejoice in the ups and downs that life offers you. Rejoice that your expedition lasts as long as it does, that your writing is a part of it, that it is a part of your life, your self and above all a part of everything that is. Allow it, let it flow and you will find even more joy and satisfaction in it. Although we have told you this many times, we will try to convey it to you again and again until you understand it from the depths of your heart.” “Do you think that will happen? I mean that I really understand everything you say from the depths of my heart?” “Most certainly. You just have to let it flow. Allow it and try never to give up.”

Shortly before departure

Bolstered by the conversation, I set about adjusting the suspension of the new Ortlieb bags for the bikes. From now on we will also ride with large Ortlieb panniers at the front. Not because we have more cargo, but because we have difficulty accommodating what we have. Whenever we went to a store to buy something to eat for ourselves, we had trouble finding a place to put it. It was an unpleasant arbitration. Christoph from Ortlieb immediately sent us the new bags at our request and thank goodness they arrived in time for Franz.

Shortly before we set off, Tanja rearranges her food bags. Rapunzel and Reiter also provided us with supplies. Although we can buy everything we need to feed our hungry bodies in Austria and also in Hungary, we don’t want to do without our own food, at least as long as it is feasible. The demands placed on our systems convince us more than ever how important it is to feed them with the right food. Organic food is at the top of the list. But Reiter’s freeze-dried meals are also fantastic. Because we only have to pour hot water into the bags, we save a lot of time and energy. The best thing is that it still tastes very good. Not forgetting our food supplements from Sanatur, such as vitamins, minerals and algae.

Due to the documentation work of the last few days, I’ve only just got around to cleaning and oiling the chain drive of our trusty riese & müller bikes. To date, they have lasted 1000 kilometers without a single problem despite the enormous strain. Before the trip, I was terrified of having to tinker with the trestles every day. But until now, these concerns have been wasted energy. Our machines run fantastically and absolutely faultlessly. The 14-speed Rohloff hub gears have also worked perfectly so far.

Compared to our camel expedition, this trip is almost relaxing. Of course, the Danube cycle path is like a four-poster bed for bicycles and there will be other times. But according to the motto “enjoy the moment”, we do this and especially the fantastic cycle paths.

I use Franz’s large strawberry scales to weigh my entire load again. Although I have slimmed down a few things, the result scares me. “110 kilograms, it’s still 110 kilograms,” I say to Tanja in amazement. “With the new food supply for your constantly growling stomach, I’m also driving 88 kg again,” she replies. “Why my growling stomach? I don’t think yours is inferior. Sometimes I think I can hear a grizzly bear behind me,” I tease back with a laugh. “How heavy is your trailer now?” Tanja then wants to know. “53.7 kilograms.” “Do you think he can take that in the long term?” “I think so. Used is a great company. They have designed a very good trailer. It’s simple, functional and extremely stable. The system is ingenious. I don’t think the hangers will cause us any problems. And if they do, I’m sure they’ll be easy to fix,” I reply confidently.

Red miracle cure?

Then the time has finally come. The bikes are loaded down to a few bits and pieces and newly equipped for the next 1000 kilometers. Hungary and Slovakia can come. I hurry into the bathroom to get my wash bag. I quickly pack everything away as my gaze lingers, mesmerized, on a fat red stain on the shelf of the beautiful new and expensive bathroom. “Oh God!” I gasp. I immediately grab the soap and a nearby hand-washing brush to remove the red stain. Despite great effort, the blob still shines at me. I stare angrily at the small bottle that Ingo the art professor recently gave me. “It’s good for muscle tension. It’s a pure miracle cure. My Chinese friends always send it to me when I run out. I don’t know what’s in it, but it helps fantastically. Take the bottle with you. I’m sure you’ll need it,” he said, praising me for the obviously devilish stuff. Now a tiny part of it has run down the bottle and has immortalized itself in a considerable size on the white shelf. “Well, I’ll help you into your stockings,” I whisper threatening the foreign liquid, shiny in its red color, and go into the kitchen to get some tougher cleaning products. Meanwhile, Franz is lying on the sofa watching TV. Back in the bathroom, I treat the stain with vigorous effort. Nothing, absolutely nothing happens. “Pah!” I shout quietly and quickly run back into the kitchen. Franz lifts his head and gives me an irrelevant look. I hope he doesn’t notice anything, I think to myself and pour some of the more aggressive cleaning agent onto the stained surface. Nothing! Nothing is happening again. The red fucking thing seems to glare at me maliciously. Almost desperately, I scurry back into the kitchen. “Denis! What are you doing there?” Franz’s voice makes me flinch. “Come in a minute,” I reply evasively. This time I tackle the stubborn guy with steel wool. Lo and behold, something is happening. The cheeky red grin is fading. After a few minutes there is soon nothing to see. I breathe a sigh of relief. I made it. I walk over the spot once more to make sure I’ve caught everything as the former red turns slightly grayish. “What’s that?” I whisper. I rub the now gray area again. Oh, it’s getting bigger. How can this happen? I take a closer look at the mutant as my eyes nearly pop out of my head in shock. There’s no doubt that I put too much energy into the whole thing and scuffed the coating of the shelf. Dejected, I shuffle back into the kitchen to throw the steel wool in the bin. “What are you doing there?” Franz asks again in a friendly manner. “I think I’ve just produced an insurance claim,” I reply.

On the road

Finally, at 2:45 p.m. the race starts. Franz accompanies us to the Danube and takes a few pictures. Because Maria has traveled to the Czech Republic for the weekend and we already said goodbye yesterday, she is not here today. Arriving at the big river, Franz leaves his car and jumps on his bike. “I’ll keep you company for a few more kilometers,” he says happily. Then it’s time to say goodbye and I hug my friend. “I hope it won’t be years before we see each other again,” I say. “Thank you so much for your hospitality,” Tanja says, also hugging him.

Then the cycle path ends and we have to take the ferry to Ottensheim. We make the most of the time waiting for the old ferry and drink a hot tea from the thermos flask. Three elderly ladies and a gentleman also want to cross to the other side of the river. They are standing next to me and talking. “Where are they going with all their luggage?” asks one of the ladies. “Do you have a dog in that box?” “Nope, equipment and we need so much because we’re cycling to China,” I reply dutifully, now very practiced. “Are you going to Shanghai? My nephew married a Chinese woman from Shanghai. We were all invited to the wedding. It was a party, I tell you. I was also at the Great Wall of China. It’s a great building,” she says with visible pride. “Is that the Wailing Wall?” asks the other. “No, the Wailing Wall is in Israel. The Great Wall of China is in China,” she corrects her friend with a serious expression. Tanja and I look at each other and sip our tea while the ladies’ conversation continues. “The Great Wall of China is the longest structure in the world,” you need to know. “It’s the only building on earth that can be seen from the satellites,” she explains to the other. “Have you ever been to China?” the knowledgeable lady asks me abruptly. “Yes. We crossed the Taklamakan, the desert of death, on camels,” I answer dutifully. “Ah, the Taklamakan is the coldest desert on earth. It gets down to minus 40° there. I saw that in a TV documentary,” she blabbers on. Thank goodness the ferry docks and frees me from my history lesson.

When we reach the bank on the other side, Tanja pushes her companion up the steep embankment. “Can I help you?” asks the woman who has been informed about the location of the Wailing Wall. Tanja doesn’t have time to answer as the lady’s hands press against the saddlebags from diagonally behind. “No, no!” exclaims Tanja in horror, as she can barely hold her bike on the steep approach to the ferry. Even before the old lady has pushed Tanja’s bike over, her helping hands come loose. But as soon as Tanja is freed from the well-intentioned but destructive help, the woman’s hands are back on the trailer. “No thanks. I can do this on my own,” Tanja shouts, panting, using her last ounce of strength to prevent the bike from tipping over and the inevitable fall onto the ramp. “Leave her alone! If she doesn’t want help!” says the China expert to her friend, which is why her hands finally withdraw this time.

We then leave the former Roman settlement of Lentia, today’s Linz, behind us. The industrial facilities on the banks are a reminder of the city’s early development. Emperor Maximilian initiated the development of the city as early as 1497, which brought Linz and its fairs in the 16. and 17th century throughout Europe. We would like to visit Linz, which has recently developed into an internationally recognized city of culture, but we want to reach a campsite today.

Our bikes purr over the embankment on the left side of the Danube. In the early evening hours, many cyclists and recreational athletes come towards us on their inline skates. The lush meadows to the left and right are used by city dwellers. Football, badminton and chess are played. Indians and Pakistanis practise cricket. Local youngsters race around a designated area on their skateboards to hot music. Others use the Sunday evening to put the last sausages on the barbecue or sip the last beer. The hustle and bustle is colorful and interesting to watch.

We find the campsite at Pleschinger Badesee. There are only three small tents on the meadow. “Looks strange,” I say. A Chinese woman arrives, unzips her small dwelling and slips inside without comment. Then she throws a few handkerchiefs in front of her entrance and lights them. The flames flicker upwards just a few centimeters next to the canvas. I watch the production in amazement and wonder what the woman from the Middle Kingdom wants to achieve with this action. Suddenly the zipper opens again and more handkerchiefs feed the descending flame. Other countries, other customs. Maybe the woman is driving the mosquitoes away with the smoke, I think to myself and mind my own business.

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