Satisfied with our performance

The first day on the Danube is like a trip through a fairytale world for us. The partly natural floodplains, the overgrown banks, dense forests, the colorful bird life, swans paddling across the water with their families, the many descriptions that are posted on the bridges for visitors and cyclists and explain the nature and wildlife. The commitment of conservationists, associations and communities here seems to be exemplary.

Shortly before Ulm, I study the map. “What are you looking for?” a cyclist asks me. “We want to go to Ulm Minster,” I reply. “Oh, you know what, before I explain this to you at length, I’ll walk you there. I have time. I’m a pensioner and it gives me pleasure to show you the way,” explains the friendly cyclist, who introduces himself as Siegfried Speidel.

Even though I have been able to admire many temples, monasteries, pagodas, pyramids and other sacred buildings in my life, the world’s tallest church tower at 161.60 meters inspires me. Tanja and our friendly city guide look after the bikes outside while I wander through the impressive church and feel a tremendous respect for the work of the architects of the time. As I leave the church, Tanja is interviewed by two journalists who happen to be interviewing the tourists present. When they heard about our project, they were delighted with the unexpected story. Mr. Speidel shows us the leaning house in the picturesque fishermen’s and tanners’ quarter. The ancient houses, built close together and partly above the water of the little river Blau, convey what it must have been like here hundreds of years ago. We would love to spend the day here in one of the many inviting restaurants and cafés. But although we have all the time in the world, we still want to reach the campsite in Dillingen today. We say goodbye to our helpful city guide and pedal our two-wheelers further down the Danube.

Fortunately, the sun has been kind to us again today and is making an effort to do justice to August. “Is there a bakery here?” I ask a woman coming towards us on the footpath, holding a bag of bread rolls in her hands. “Yes, a few hundred meters further on to the left,” she replies with a laugh. We buy a snack in the small bakery in Thalfingen and take a break at the next bench outside the small village. A plaque commemorates the historic spot where the Austrians fought against Napoleon’s troops at the beginning of the 19th century. “It’s unbelievable what happened here. Just imagine. According to what is written there, 4000 soldiers on each side died in a terrible massacre,” I say devoutly. “I didn’t even know that the Austrians were on this part of the Danube,” says Tanja. “Me neither,” I reply, thinking that we are standing on blood-soaked earth.

Tired, we leave the hill on the banks of the mighty river, which looks so peaceful today. According to our plan, we want to reach Dillingen this afternoon. There is a campsite there where friends want to visit us. But Tanja and I are already dead tired in Günzburg. A sign with the inscription: Camping ? Nature lovers, tempt us to set up camp here. “What do you mean? The Naturfreunde campsite is four kilometers from the cycle path. Should we go there or continue on to Dillingen?” “How far is Dillingen?” Tanja wants to know. “About 30 kilometers to go. Can you still make it?” “You know I can do it,” Tanja replies, visibly straining. On the way through Günzburg, I have the feeling that my thighs are failing me. The muscle pain soon becomes unbearable and I notice my concentration waning. Trembling with incipient weakness, I push my heavily laden machine over the high kerb. Again we come across a sign for the Friends of Nature. As I pass it, my thoughts seem to pass this information on to my leg muscles. They roar and I think I can hear them chanting “Friends of nature, friends of nature”. At the third signpost I give up and ask a woman for directions. “You’re wrong!” the old lady yells in my ear, holding on to my handlebars, whereupon I almost lose control of my bike. “You have to drive up there, then around, then down, and over the mountain!” she croaks in her Bavarian Swabian dialect. As I say goodbye to her, she holds my bike tightly by the handlebars and hammers in my ear: “It’s not far. Just another three kilometers!” her reply shocks me and my thighs whimper loudly. “Thank you,” I reply and am about to roll my road train off the kerb. Suddenly, the shrill lady’s hand shoots forward again. Your index finger hammers on the map attached to the handlebar bag. The heavy finger presses aimlessly on the pocket as it bends downwards. “Hascht verstanda! Up there!” she shakes my eardrums, whereupon I nod kindly and use all the strength left in my bones to flee as quickly as possible.

20 minutes later we reach the Naturfreunde campsite, happy but completely exhausted. A well-tended meadow invites you to pitch your tent. Only a few cyclists have made it this far. We carry an abandoned bench to our tent, sit down on it and drink a beer that Tanja has fetched from the nearby pub. The alcohol gets into my head after just a few sips. An approaching thunderstorm causes the last rays of sunlight to shimmer dramatically through a black wall of clouds. Even though we didn’t have any great adventures today, weren’t attacked by wild camel bulls or just barely escaped the eye of a hurricane, we are happy to have reached this camp site and are satisfied with our performance.

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