Wet and cold showers

The turning cranks circle monotonously along the abandoned Danube dam. The sky is cloudy and the day is cold. Every few kilometers we have to maneuver our roadtrains through a barrier passage specially designed for bikes. Cars and motorcycles are not allowed up here. “Are you traveling well?”, a Russian couple asks us as they approach us on their racing bikes. “charascho”, (good) we answer. Only a few kilometers later do we know why the Russians asked us about the quality of the road. The previously perfect asphalt strip dissolves into a path interspersed with grass hubs. At the foot of the dam there is a usable gravel road. “We’ll try down there,” I decide. Our tires sink into the gravel. Progress is possible but no longer easy. The path is damp. Puddles have formed and our trailers rush and rumble through them. The entire area is under the dammed Danube water almost up to the roadway. An ideal breeding ground for mosquitoes. Stopping to catch your breath for a few minutes is definitely impossible. Millions of mosquitoes then swoop down on us to drive their terrible stings into our skin. Even while riding, they penetrate our necks, fly through the slits in our helmets to feast on our scalps or chase their snouts through our cycling shorts to draw blood from our legs. We plod along below the dam for hours, hoping not to get a flat tire right now. Finally we reach a strip of asphalt that crosses our path and winds its way over the dam. An old woman is herding her goats up there and gives me a friendly look. “Is this Vel`ke Kosihy?” I ask as I reach the top, hoping she understands me. “Vel`ke Kosihy, yes. Where are you from?” she asks me, to my amazement, in broken but understandable German. “From Germany,” I reply, panting wildly and thrashing around even more. “What town?” she asks with a friendly laugh, almost holding my handlebars with one hand. “From Nuremberg”, I reply almost desperately, as the mosquitoes are currently on the attack. “Nuremberg, I know. I have friends from Germany,” she says, apparently just getting into the mood to engage in a longer conversation. While the goats next to me grumble, the old lady asks me more questions and my legs are riddled with voracious mosquitoes, I try to make it clear to the goat owner that I can no longer stay here. Tanja is just coming over the crest of the dam, panting heavily and swearing terribly, when I free myself from the nice woman’s hand and let my bike hurtle down the dam. “This is madness! I never want to cycle along a road like that again! I’d rather cycle on the road than be exposed to this madness! I’m really annoyed now!” Tanja grumbles loudly. “It’s not anyone’s fault if there are suddenly so many mosquitoes,” I reply. “I’m not angry with you, I’m angry with the fucking animals!” she complains, scratching herself violently.

The huge fields that glide past us give a sad impression. Almost all of them have been harvested and the brown-grey, plowed-up earth stretches as far as the horizon. A machine harvests the last of the sunflowers that have gone dark. Apple trees line parts of the road. A few apples are still hanging in the almost leafless branches or rotting on the messenger. “Let’s take a short break,” Tanja stops me as we leave the mosquito hunting ground behind us. Standing at the roadside, we fortify ourselves with a nut mix from Rapunzel and a few figs whose sugar gives us energy for the next few kilometers. At Okanikovo, we join the busy main road and follow it on the hard shoulder to Zlatna. Although we set off late, our speedometer already shows 52 kilometers. A restaurant on the roadside advertises good food. Unfortunately, it is closed in the afternoon. In the town of Zlatna we find another restaurant where we want to warm up a little and fortify ourselves with a meal. The owner invites us in even though her business has also been closed for half an hour. “Would you like a pea stew and some vegetable soup?” the woman asks us in English. We are happy to answer. As we leave Zlatna, the rain has picked up. It’s a day when you wonder what we’re doing here at all. Trucks and countless cars thunder past us. The wind covers us with a cold, wet shower. Lights dazzle and when the industrial town of Komarno appears, we need all our energy not to get lost in the traffic madness. We aim unerringly for a point on the map marked with an accommodation. I ask a few passers-by in several languages and when that doesn’t work, thank goodness sign language proves its worth. Then you cross a bridge. A car is parked on the hard shoulder. I’m just about to overtake it when a loud honk makes me pull the brakes. I come to a halt in front of the parked car just in time. The truck thunders past me in foaming spray, then I steer my wobbly Roadtrain around the vehicle and on we go. Again we have to go up and down a bridge. My back starts to complain. Sharp pains drive in at ever shorter intervals. On the outskirts of town, we learn that the accommodation no longer seems to exist. “Center, have to go to the center,” says a young gas station attendant. Tanja and I cycle back up the busy bridge. Then we turn left to continue along a branch of the Danube, which now appears dark. “At least there are no cars here!” I shout to Tanja. Industrial plants stare at us with their ugliness. Abandoned buildings seem to be on the verge of collapse. The holes in the asphalt are filled with water. We carefully steer our bikes around. The pain in my back increases. “There’s a guesthouse up ahead!” calls Tanja. “Where?” “There on the right. I saw the sign!” she replies. We turn into a side street, park our bikes in front of a house and I ask if there is a room for us. “I’m sorry. All full,” the young woman’s English-speaking voice disappoints me. “Is there another guesthouse nearby?” I ask. “Yes, Pension Dunai. It’s not far from here,” I hear with relief. I immediately set off to find them. I walk criss-cross through and over the streets whose asphalt lies around like ice floes. Obviously, the old pavement is being torn off the road to be replaced at some point. It takes a long time and I only find what I’m looking for when a young man shows me the way. “Yes, we have rooms,” I hear happily. I immediately sprint back to Tanja and the bikes. As we carry my heavy trailer up to the beautiful, brand new room, a sharp pain shoots through my back and leaves me flat for the rest of the evening. “Do you think we can continue tomorrow?” asks Tanja anxiously. “No idea. But as things stand at the moment, I’m out of action for the time being.

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