As if conjured out of a hat

To prevent Tanja’s knee pain from worsening, I raise her saddle. Mark, the deputy production manager at riese & müller, showed me what the correct distance from hip to pedal should be. When the sole of the foot is centered on the pedal, the knee should only be slightly bent. In Tanja’s case, however, it is at a relatively strong angle. This shortens tendons and ligaments in the long term and can lead to overstimulation and inflammation.

“And how does it feel?” I ask as Tanja cycles behind me with a new saddle height. “I think it’s actually better. We should even raise the saddle a little higher.” “We’ll do it tomorrow. Try to get used to the new position slowly first,” I reply, heading towards the main road.

Suddenly we get caught in a traffic jam. As we slowly overtake the cars, a truck driver waves at us. He rolls down his window. “Police! Pile-up!”, he warns us and points to the hard shoulder. Heeding his warning, we lead our bikes back to the side of the road and get in line behind a car. After about 10 minutes, we arrive at the scene of the incident. A truck has overturned and is wedged in the ditch with several cars. The entire road is blocked with debris. A large bulldozer clears the mess to the side of the road. The police divert the traffic onto a dirt track. We bump along after the cars through puddles, holes and sand. Then we get back onto the main road, which has been backed up for several kilometers. A friendly driver backs us up and lets us cycle alongside the stationary vehicles at our own speed until we have left the traffic jam behind us. We reach the village of Dömsöd. We buy some food in a small supermarket and eat it straight away. “We have to try to leave the main road. It’s too dangerous in the long run. At some point, a truck driver won’t pay attention and run us over,” I say thoughtfully, sipping my cocoa. “Is there an alternative?” “I think so. We drive about eight kilometers east from here. There we come to a side road. It’s a bit longer, but it also takes us to the Serbian border.” “That’s a good idea,” Tanja agrees.

As soon as we turn into the side road to Apaj, we find ourselves in another world. Hungary suddenly seems to have been pulled out of a hat. Suddenly we find ourselves between fields, some of which are being harvested. Agricultural machinery rolls past us. Drivers greet us happily and give us the thumbs up when they see our bikes. People look after us and wave happily. An elderly gentleman is keen to talk to us. He asks in his language and we tell in ours. “China?” he suddenly understands, raises his eyebrows and shakes his head in disbelief but with a laugh. “We’re on the greatest cycle path of all time!” I shout happily, because there’s hardly any traffic here. Every now and then a truck comes along, but it can swerve onto the other side of the road to overtake us. The drivers sometimes warn us with a carefully quiet honk, which sounds more like a cough. According to my map, we are next to a national park which is marked as Kiskusagi Nemzeti Park. The flat steppe landscape stretches out forever on all sides. A shepherd drives his flock of sheep across the vast meadows with his dogs. A horse-drawn cart comes towards us. The driver waves happily to us. Fields of peppers line the way. The sharp pods flash dark red in the rising sunlight. The trailers of the tracktors are heaped to bursting point with freshly harvested grapes. They slowly chug past us in order to get to the winery in time. Again and again we discover dead snakes on the road. “They probably wanted to warm themselves up on the warm asphalt before the coming winter and had to give their lives for their recklessness. Suddenly, a few thatched barns and huts appear. Dogs bark as we slowly pass the large estates. There are a few apple orchards outside the villages that are still waiting to be harvested. In Szabadszallas we are recommended a pizzeria. Although I love to eat Hungarian food but unfortunately can’t find a local restaurant, we order a pizza that tastes delicious. Pizzerias seem to be all the rage in Hungary at the moment. You come across them everywhere, in every small town. Tanning in sunbeds is also popular with the population, with signs advertising the healthy look from the socket even in small towns.

After 75 kilometers, Tanja’s knee starts to hurt again. “But the pain comes much later than usual today,” says Tanja, putting it down to the saddle adjustment. Our mood is at its peak again today. I feel as if we are surfing along on the stormy sea of emotions. Depending on the weather, experiences and adventures, pain and well-being, everything is reflected in our minds. Our speedometer shows 94 kilometers per day when we reach the town of Kiskörös. Two very pretty and friendly Hungarian women show us the way to a guesthouse. “Let’s buy something for the evening first,” Tanja suggests. “Good idea,” I agree with her and while she looks after the bikes, I enter the supermarket just across the road.

“Our overnight stay is booked for today. I met four German tourists. They raved about a thermal campsite nearby,” Tanja tells me happily as I leave the store with a full bag of bread and other things. “Okay,” I say. It’s probably not as expensive as a room. Maybe I can finally write my update there,” I reply confidently.

At the nearby crossroads, the elderly couple wave to us. “They waited especially to show us the way,” says Tanja happily. In fact, the campsite is still really busy. Around 30 to 40 campers have parked their caravans in a loose arrangement on the spacious site. We pitch our tent right next to the motorhome of the nice couple and are happy to finally be able to spend the night in our own house again. Later, as I park our trusty bikes, I take another look at my speedometer. We set another new record today with just under 96 kilometers for the day.

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