New record

We start the sunny day with a tank full of energy. Even a slight headwind cannot slow us down. We buy a bottle of fresh cider for the evening at a farm and stop for a snack in the lovely market square in the town of Grein. Then we accidentally follow the path on the wrong side of the Danube. Again and again we have to let our vehicles roll along the asphalt of the busy road. I look enviously over to the right or south bank. “We should have taken the ferry at Grein. With the traffic here and the cycle path barely existing, I’m not surprised that none of our cycling colleagues use this side,” I say. The sun is blazing down from the sky at around 30 degrees. We are running out of water. A heavily laden articulated lorry is blocking the narrow path. He unloads building materials for a house. We have a hard time getting past it. Tanja suffers from severe headaches. We both ran out of water. In the town of Persenbeug, I brake my bike in front of a snack bar. We order two large apple juice spritzers to get our electrolyte balance back on track. “In temperatures like this, we have to make sure we drink more water. It’s dangerous to run our bodies so dry,” I realize and take a big sip. “That’s true, but it happens so quickly. I didn’t even realize that my body urgently needed water. It was only the headache that warned me,” Tanja replies. “If you have a headache, it’s usually already too late. Your circulation can quickly collapse under such strain.” “I know. We have to load an extra container of water into the saddlebags,” says Tanja, pouring the contents of her glass down her thirsty throat. “How far is it to the campsite?” she wants to know. “According to my map, we’ll be there soon.” “Thank goodness. I’m exhausted today,” she replies, wiping the sweat from her forehead.

After 62 kilometers and a lot of headwind, we reach our overnight stop not far behind the town of Persenbeug. “What? 13 euros a night?” I say in shock, glancing around the camp site. The narrow strip of land is squeezed like a withered sausage between the Danube and the main traffic artery. Trucks thunder past just a few meters from the adjacent hedge, causing the barely existing lawn to shake slightly. There is a caravan next to the spot where we are supposed to pitch our tent. The windows are open and the TV is reflected flickering in the panes. “It’s a terrible place. So if you’re still able, I’d like to continue. There’s another campsite on the map just 5 kilometers from here. What do you think?” I ask Tanja. “I’m tired, but if I have to listen to you moaning because you don’t like it here, I’d rather keep driving.” “We can stay and I’ll do my best not to complain about this place,” I reply. “But we can also drive on.” “So what now, stay or go? It’s up to you,” I say as the campsite manager arrives. “Shall we do the registration now? You can fill out the form right here,” she asks a little too intrusively. Tanja and I look at each other and agree. “We’re just thinking about going to see our friends today. They live nearby,” I fib. “If you say so,” she replies and leaves us standing there.

20 minutes later we reach the campsite outside Klein-Pöchlarn. It is just as unfavorably located between the river and the traffic artery, except that it is completely full except for a small corner. “Is the place always this full?” I ask the owner in amazement. “At this time of year, yes.” “What are people doing here? On vacation?” I want to know. “No idea. It’s a strict Christian congregation. They come every year and this year they’ve been here for over five weeks,” the businessman replies with satisfaction. “Maybe we should go to Gerda’s today,” Tanja suggests. We got to know Gerda Gassner through the Internet. She owns a camel riding school and a rubber factory and got in touch with us years ago. Because she is a camel lover and owns 13 of these desert animals herself, she was fascinated by our Australian expedition. We soon got to know her personally and she attended several of our shows. By changing our route, we are able to accept her invitation and spend a few days with her. Your domicile is located directly on the Danube. We use the telephone at the campsite to call Gerda. “You’re welcome to come today. I’m really looking forward to it,” she says, whereupon we get back into the saddles and start spinning the cranks on our bikes. “Thank God I ate the chocolate bar. It really gave me energy,” says Tanja, as there is hardly any sign of her tiredness.

As my speedometer reads 70 kilometers, a cyclist comes towards us. It’s Gerda. The joy of seeing each other again is great. We hug each other warmly and follow her to the village of Weitenegg. “From here it’s only 6 kilometers up the road, then we’re in Eitental,” she says. I literally wince at her words. Another 6 kilometers uphill. Will our thighs still be able to cope? “Come on guys, let’s finish the mountain. That would be a laugh,” I spur on the two struggling companions below me. In fact, my request seems to be working. A switch flips in the brain and all pain is numbed. Like an unstoppable steamroller, my machine pushes forward at just under 20 kilometers per hour. The sun’s light has long since receded from the narrow valley and dusk is slowly setting in. When we reach the vacation apartment where Gerda is putting us up for the next few days, the speedometer shows a new daily record of 82.85 kilometers. “If we had to, we’d break 100 today,” I say with a laugh.

After a shower, Gerda picks us up and invites us to a Chinese restaurant in the town of Melk. Her husband Werner joins us and we spend a lovely evening full of stories.

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