What should I write?

This summer’s seemingly constant companion, the rain, has the day firmly in its grip. We peeled ourselves out of the tent and had breakfast during a short break in the rain. What did farmer Schmidt say? “That’s really uncomfortable.” Farmer Schmidt was right, it is really uncomfortable and the miserable summer is already eating away at our travel morale.

“Where am I supposed to write in this awful weather?” I ask Tanja. Why don’t you sit down in your nice chair and get started?” “But I don’t know what to write? What have we already experienced? I’ll never get it down on paper,” I moan. “Well then, just write in short words what happened. Summarize everything. You don’t have to rack your brains like that,” she replies to motivate me. “But I don’t even know what to write in short words. People will be bored out of their minds. Should I tell them what farmer Schmidt asked us?” “For example.” “But no old sod would be interested in that,” I boast to myself and set my lightweight folding chair down on the wet lawn. As soon as I open the computer, I’m blinded by the first rays of sunlight of the day. “Man, I’m going to need sunglasses,” I grumble as I get up and place the chair in the shade of the nearby tree. As soon as I sit down, the cold wind blows into my trouser legs and makes me shiver. “No one can write under these conditions,” I curse in a bad mood. “You’ve written in other conditions,” my wife’s voice comforts me, whereupon I grab my Itronix laptop and shuffle up to the Friends of Nature pub. Cigarette smoke takes my breath away. The radio newsreader is blaring negative world news at me and a couple of children are running through the pub screaming and squealing. I immediately turn around and examine the room where the nature lovers celebrate their parties. Beer benches and tables are neatly lined up in the room, which is open on one side. It is dark and cold. A single ray of sunlight hits the beer bench at the rear window. Attracted by the spot of light, I sit down on the ray that is now warming my back. I crouch in front of the blank screen and try to organize my thoughts. I feel hot and cold and have the feeling that I’ll never be able to put my thoughts down on paper, or rather type them into my laptop, again in my life. My head is empty. I rub my eyes and look out of the window. Abandoned benches, an equally abandoned barbecue area and fire pit seem to draw me in in their sad state.

My head is still empty. No thoughts. I would love to close the thing in front of me again and join Tanja. The frustration of sitting here alone in this deserted cold cell and thinking about the last five days seems to grow. Now I’m lingering here, looking out of the window and I can’t exactly say I’m feeling happy at the moment. Spiders crawl past the wall with their long legs. At least they know what they’re doing, I think to myself. Then I watch the flies settling on the table. After they have shat on it, they continue to buzz. A mouse runs past, stops, looks up at me and seems to wonder what this lonely person is doing here. The sense and nonsense of our undertaking crosses my mind. As soon as I realize the thought, it rushes past again and my mind goes blank again. I feel the warm ray of sunshine on my back and am happy about it. A positive thought. I’ve been sitting there for an hour now and the sun is still shining on the same spot. Strange. Strange but beautiful. My mood improves a little. The fog of emptiness slowly lifts, bit by bit. “Just write that the Bodenmüllers accompanied you for the first few kilometers,” it shoots through my head. “But that’s boring as hell,” I reply. “Let someone else be the judge of that. It’s your life, your life. No life is boring. No matter what happens, it’s always an interesting story. It’s always the angle of observation. Or don’t you think?” I’ve been hearing my inner voice again since the desert in Australia. “You think so?” I reply, amused at my silent soliloquy in the same breath. “Of course I mean that. Imagine someone who lives in Africa or in a desert where there are no rivers, no green trees and above all no people who want to cycle to Burma. Don’t you think they would find a story like that interesting?” “I think that such a story is something new for these people. But for people in Germany, something like that is rather unsatisfactory.” “But there are also many people who never cycle, or precisely because they cycle they can feel with you. Whichever way you look at it, just write what happened and don’t worry about interesting, boring or uninteresting. Just write.” “Okay, well then I’ll just start. You’re right. So I’ll start by saying that we liked it better at Bodenmüller’s every day and were still happy to be able to continue our virgin bike trip.” “Exactly, that’s the beginning.”

On the road again

Now that the bikes have been fitted with a new sprocket and better towbars, and the first update with a satellite phone has been published on the website, we are looking forward to new experiences.

As in recent weeks, the sky is overcast and promises more rain. It has been raining cats and dogs every night for seven days. Because the Bodenmüller family had rented out their vacation apartment, we spent the nights in a tent. Sometimes I thought I was going to get cabin fever. At some point, the constant dripping on the fabric has reached a level of unpleasantness that all you want is a dry bed.

Ingrid and Alfred don’t miss the opportunity to accompany us on their bikes on this day. Alfred knows a few secret routes. “That way we can avoid most of the hills in this area,” he says. Nevertheless, we are forced to push our bikes again and again. After 22 km we reach Alfred’s favorite place where he would like to live. It is an old farm in a lovely valley. A small dog barks to show us that he is the master here. Chickens cluck and flutter around excitedly. After shouting hello several times, an old lady comes out of the door. With her back bent and carrying a carved wooden stick, she hobbles towards us to greet us. Her appearance reminds me of the fairy tales of the Brothers Grimm. She seems to be happy about the change from our visit. She has lived alone in her old house for years and rarely has guests. Alfred buys two dusty bottles of beer from her. We take the opportunity to stop for lunch with the old lady. She is happy to join us at the table in front of the empty pigsty and is interested in the news Alfred tells her.

After about 30 kilometers, Ingrid and Alfred say goodbye to us. From now on, there shouldn’t be much of an uphill climb,” says Alfred. “Would be nice,” we reply and say see you again. As soon as they disappear around the next bend, we are not sure which direction to take. “There’s the sign for the campsite!” Tanja calls to me as I drive past. We turn into the small side street. It disappears into a forest and leads so steeply uphill that we are forced to push despite the new gearing of our bikes. We push the bike trucks up the ridge for over an hour. When we reach the top, we are completely exhausted. “Is there a campsite around here?” I ask a woman hanging out her washing in the garden on the edge of the village. “Yes, you have to go up the hill back there, past two small farms, through a wood and then straight on. That’s where you’ll meet the Buhof. They also have a campsite,” her answer shocks us. “Is that far away?” I ask. “No, no, you can do it easily. I even do the route again and again with my children,” she replies, to which we are not sure whether her statement is reassuring. Another 20 minutes later, we reach Buhof, which is situated at an altitude of around 750 meters.

Apart from a few permanent campers who park their caravans on the pretty ridge, not a single tent vacationer has turned up here despite the high season. We have almost the whole place to ourselves and set up our dwelling, tired and exhausted. The only consolation for us is that the gentle rays of sunshine have driven away the rain clouds and we don’t have to expect to get wet again in the next few hours.

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