Cycling on the highway

According to the map, only one highway leads out of the city. A little nervous, as cyclists are not allowed there, we approach this challenge. In fact, the road signs point to an even larger highway. “Do we really want to go up there?” asks Tanja a little nervously. “Whether we like it or not. This is the only road to get out of the city. We have no other chance,” I reply. We pedal up the driveway and immediately pull over onto the well-maintained hard shoulder. The cars race past us. However, as the hard shoulder is well developed, we have our own lane and can make progress undisturbed and much more safely than on the main road. Then it’s back over one of the many tongues of water. A sign prohibits all traffic under five kilometers per hour. “We’re much faster,” I shout, ignoring the no trespassing sign, and kick our horses onto the wide bridge. Once again, anglers stand at the railing and hold their routes in the water. They too apparently neglected the prohibition sign, because some of them are here with their old rickety bicycles, leaning them against the railing. On the other side of the bridge, the highway suddenly becomes a normal road without any hard shoulder. Stalls line the arterial road again and again. Seasonal fruit such as melons, peaches, pears, apples, potatoes, onions and peppers are on offer. Some families offer home-made honey and home-distilled schnapps. Dried fish is also hooked.

We take a break for lunch. There is nowhere to sit down. We use my trailer with the Zargesbox as a table and fortify ourselves with fresh white bread, cheese and tomatoes.

“Denis! Can you hear the buzzing too?” Tanja calls behind me. “What kind of buzzing?” Just the whirring.” “Nope, I can’t hear it,” I reply and let my bike fly over the pitch at 25 kilometers per hour because of the tailwind. “So, I don’t know? I’m exhausted. I can’t keep up the speed. Something seems to be slowing me down today,” Tanja calls out again. “Can’t be? The tailwind is fantastic,” I reply. “Nevertheless. Als hätte ich Blei in den Knochen. Maybe there’s something wrong with my bike?” “Well, let’s pull over. I’ll have a look,” I reply and brake. Tanja and I change bikes. I get on her saddle and go for a test ride. “There! The bag on the trailer is dragging on the rear tire!” Tanja shouts as she sees me pass by. The Ortlieb bag has indeed shifted. The fastening strap has been damaged by the rubbing. We reattach the bag and this time we speed on with the wind. “And how’s it going?” I ask. “Oh, a dream. As if by itself. I hardly need to pedal,” laughs Tanja behind me.

The first continuous rainOn this day, the sun is covered by a dark layer of cloud for the first time in a long time. The temperature has dropped drastically again. It is a relief for us to be able to cycle without this constant heat. But the fun doesn’t last long. Wild lightning flashes across the firmament in front of us. The deep rumble of thunder is approaching rapidly. Then it slowly starts to rain. We pull over to the side of the road and put on all our rain gear. Just in time, because suddenly the heavens open their gates and submerge the land. We switch on the lights on our riese und müller to be seen better by traffic. The tires of the cars and trucks now eat past us with a sharp hissing sound. They splash us from the front and back as they shoot through the large puddles or pools of water. Fog rolls in and you could be forgiven for thinking it’s dawning on broad daylight. We leave the large advertising sign for the island of Crimea next to us. Then comes a border post. Although Crimea officially belongs to Ukraine, it administers itself with its own president. The guard gives us a friendly wave in the heavy rain and we reach the edge of the popular vacation peninsula. When the sign for the town of Armiansk appears, we decide to call it a day. Despite our cycling clothes, we check into the only local hotel. A real Eastern Bloc bunker as it is written in the book. I enter the super-ugly prefabricated building, which has been badly damaged by time, and ask to be shown the room. “So?” asks Tanja, who has been waiting outside. “Double Eastern bloc deluxe version,” I reply with a laugh. We are allowed to carry the bikes to the second floor and put them in the kitchen. The rest of the equipment, including our trailers, can be stored in the living room of the deluxe apartment. By now we are used to the old carpets, the empty old cupboards, tables and chairs, the defective lighting with only one poor light bulb, the worn-out sofas, the ancient showers and toilets from a bygone era. We are no longer bothered by the broken windows and doors that can hardly be closed and are happy to have a clean bed, even if the mattresses are sometimes made of a wooden slab. The main thing is to escape the cold rain and find a safe place for the night. That is what matters.

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