Departure

Germany

Place:

Behringersdorf

Latitude N:

49°29’4.48”

Longitude E:
011°11’40.4”

Our big e-bike expedition is finally due to start late this afternoon. Tanja and I jump around the house all day to get the rest of the work done. “We have to stay focused. We don’t want to slip on the stairs in a hurry and sprain our ankle or have another accident caused by stress. So be careful with everything you do,” I admonish Tanja, who is currently running up the basement stairs. “Yes, yes, I’ll be careful,” she replies, a little out of breath.

It’s strange, you can prepare a trip for as long as you like, but in the end it’s hectic again. I can hardly understand why this is the case. This time, however, we can partly blame the postal strike, because even today, on the day of departure, we are still receiving parcels that should have arrived a long time ago. Due to a lack of equipment, it was not possible for us to carry out real tests until the end. However, we have put a lot of energy and time into the development of the new bikes and equipment. We had special trailers built, rectified weaknesses after a few test runs and made improvements. We have worked on details over and over again. The bikes and trailers were in our living room. Sometimes I would sit in front of the systems in the evening with a bottle of beer and just stare at them until I thought of another improvement. This went on for weeks and months until the two e-bike road bikes were perfected and, as far as I could tell, would have to be able to withstand the enormous distance that was to come, which would undoubtedly put a merciless strain on the material.

The new camera technology, helmet camera, GPS, special laptops, batteries, rechargeable batteries, chargers of all kinds, a spacious tent in which we will spend a lot of time over the next 1 ½ to 2 years, winter and summer clothing, two sleeping bags per person, which will allow us to survive temperatures of up to minus 30° in the tent, and much more are stowed in the saddlebags and trailers. The e-bike road trains are now parked in front of our house, waiting to be ridden to the station. Many friends and neighbors have gathered to watch as our dog Ajaci jumps into his trailer and waits excitedly for me to put his seatbelt on.

It is one of the most exciting moments of a great journey, a journey that takes us into completely unknown territory. It’s a terribly exciting moment that makes my pulse beat so fast that I can feel the blood rushing through my veins. Jokes are cracked, speculations are made. There is laughter and some tears roll down the cheeks of one friend or another. I suddenly feel a lump in my throat and put on my cycling goggles so that no one can see the tears that suddenly make their way down my face. “We wish you a wonderful, eventful and, above all, safe journey!” some shout. Cameras and cell phones are out and whirring away. What a sublime moment. It feels to me as if 2 ½ years of preparation are being unloaded here. A feeling of freedom wafts through my stressed body. The hair on my arms stands up. It’s a goosebump moment that is unfortunately far too short. We hug and shake hands. I hug my mother who suffered a stroke two years ago and has recovered with tremendous willpower. Will I see her again? “Are they coming back, are they coming back?” asks my father incessantly, who has suffered from dementia since my mother’s stroke. “We’ll be back,” I tell him, also hugging him, and feel the sadness gripping me alongside the joy.

“We have to go, the train won’t wait,” I shout to Tanja, pointing at the clock. Then we get on the saddle. “Have a good trip!”, the wishes of our friends fly after us and we are already round a bend in the small residential street of the estate. Matthias, Robin, Uli and a small group of children accompany us on their bikes to Nuremberg Central Station. We leave our village and ride down into the meadow towards the Pegnitz when I hear the uneasy grinding of Tanja’s brakes. “What’s going on with you?” I ask, hoping not to be stopped by a breakdown in the first few meters. “I don’t know, the brakes are making strange noises,” Tanja replies, shrugging her shoulders. 20 minutes later we swap the wheels, but I can’t find out where the grinding is coming from either. “I’ll take a closer look at your bike at the station,” I say, slightly worried.

The children of our friends cheer and laugh. They are excited and buzz back and forth on their bikes like little bumblebees between the adult bikes. “Don’t make a mess! Otherwise something will happen!” warns Robin. After just under an hour, we are at the railroad embankment. A cold wind whistles around our ears. Strange weather in the middle of June. Margot and Heinz have come. “We cut our vacation short so that we could say goodbye to you,” say the two good friends. After greeting a few fans, I jet up and down the platform on Tanja’s bike to analyze the cause of the grinding noise. But without success. “I’m sure it’ll settle in,” Matthias reassures me. Paula and Irina, Robin and Matthias’ daughters, tie a braided ribbon around our wrists. “It’s to protect you,” they say, giggling.

When the train arrives, we are standing at the wrong end of the embankment. We join forces to roll the two e-bikes through the waiting passengers to the right carriage. Many hands manage to stack the approx. 290 kg of equipment into the bike wagon. Ajachi jumps onto the train, howling excitedly, and immediately lies down next to the many saddlebags.

“Bye bye! Have a good and safe journey! Come back safe and sound!” shout the people who have taken a special place in our hearts. I take a few more photos, then the hydraulic system closes the door of the carriage with a gentle click. Waving hands become smaller and then suddenly we are alone. We sit in front of our equipment, somewhat embarrassed, and stare at the landscape as it flies by. Tanja looks somehow unhappy. “Are you not feeling well?” I ask. “It’s all good. It’s just a strange feeling knowing that we won’t see our family and friends for so long.” “It is. But we’ve experienced moments like this many times in the last few decades.” “We have. And yet it’s always an unpleasant moment,” she replies thoughtfully.

Less than an hour later we reach Augsburg. We carry our new, mobile home onto the railroad embankment. “Where you’re standing now is where the overnight train to Berlin stops,” says a railroad official. “Great, then we don’t have to take everything to the other end like in Nuremberg,” I say thankfully. While Tanja and Ajaci look after the bikes, I buy myself a sandwich and a beer. Then I sit down on one of the draughty benches next to our luggage and Tanja takes Ajaci for a walk to make sure he has a good night on the train. In this solitary moment, I can feel the burden and stress of preparation slowly falling away.

About two hours later, the railroad embankment is a hive of activity. “Are they also going to Hamburg?” one of the passengers asks me. “Hamburg? Hamburg like that? The train is going to Berlin, isn’t it?” I reply in amazement as the glaring light of the night train’s headlights eats into the station. “The first part goes to Hamburg, the rear part to Berlin. The train is split at night,” explains the man kindly. “Oh no, then we have to go to the other end again!” I shout, whereupon we push our bikes through the many people waiting to get to the right carriage. “Can you help us?” Tanja asks two young men who also want to go to Berlin. “Of course we can. Where are you going with that pile of luggage on wheels?” someone wants to know. “To Vietnam,” Tanja answers dryly. “Vietnam? She said Vietnam,” he repeats to himself and punches his buddy on the shoulder, snorting with mirth as if Tanja had made a fantastic joke. “Yes, we rode our bikes from Germany to Mongolia and from there continued our journey via China to Vietnam,” I say now to reinforce Tanja’s words. The boys’ eyes widen. “Holy shit and we thought we were cool. Are you serious?” “But yes, we’ve been traveling for 24 years. Sometimes by horse, sometimes by elephant or camel. Now by bike,” I say. “Oh cool shit. You really had an elephant?” “Of course I did.” “Man, I’m thinking about whether I should buy a motorcycle or not. Really cool shit. The two of them immediately help us and haul everything into the wagon while I dismantle the trailers with my nimble fingers. In a few minutes, we’ve filled the aisle of the wagon with saddlebags, trailers and bags. “Actually, I should throw you out of here,” the resolute train manager suddenly says. “Uh, they’re going to Mongolia on their bikes. You have to support that,” one of the two boys jumps into the breach for us. Without comment, the train manager opens a large disabled compartment into which Tanja and the boys are allowed to put all our belongings. “That’s exceptionally kind of you,” Tanja thanks the train manager, whose nameplate reads Schilling. Meanwhile, I help a woman lift her heavy suitcase into the luggage rack. Then I try to fit our two bikes into the compartment, which is far too small and already fully booked. A maximum of 4 to 6 bikes fit in there. However, four bikes have already been checked in. I manage to tether our e-bikes next to their colleagues with great difficulty. Then I rush to Tanja’s aid to get the rest of our equipment into the compartment provided by Mrs. Schilling. “It would never have fitted in your two-man compartment,” she says with a wink. “Now go to your compartment and relax. I wish you a good night.” “Is our equipment safe in there?” I want to know. “But yes. I have a special key. No one can get in,” the extremely helpful and friendly Berliner reassures me.

In our cozy two-man sleeping compartment, Ajachi huddles on the floor grunting while I climb into the top bunk. “We’ve made it,” I groan with satisfaction. “Yes, we’re on our way to Berlin. Have a great trip and a good night,” says Tanja. I lie happily on my back and let the typical sound of a train lull me to sleep. It’s just as well that I don’t know at this point what an odyssey awaits us the next morning.

The live coverage is supported by the companiesGesat GmbH: www.gesat.com and roda computer GmbH www.roda-computer.com The satellite telephone Explorer 300 from Gesat and the rugged notebook Pegasus RP9 from Roda are the pillars of the transmission.