You believed in yourself and will be rewarded!
Virgin rays of sunlight peek through the forest canopy, casting restless shadows on the ground, which is damp from the early summer rain. Birds chirp in chorus, seemingly trying to outdo each other with the most cheerful songs. The gentle murmur of the nearby Pegnitz underlines the lively sounds of awakening, lush nature in the middle of Germany. Our bikes roll almost silently along the narrow asphalt path. The morning layers of fresh air fold like silken sheets over this beautiful piece of paradise. With a little imagination, you can see how they merge with the last wafts of mist rising from the river. How they dance a round dance, embrace each other and connect with a barely audible whisper to form an oversized weave, only to say goodbye moments later in the bright blue of the sky. After all the experiences of the last few months, my heart feels light in these minutes. The pressure of preparation has dissipated and disappeared into thin air with the recent bad weather. Only the slight pain in my back reminds me of what happened. Confident that I will soon lose them too, I pedal on and enjoy how well we have distributed the soon to be unbelievable mountain of equipment on our roadtrains. The 110 kilograms hanging on and behind my frame are hardly noticeable in these ideal conditions. Smiling, I see Tanja, my mother and father in the rear-view mirror. My parents didn’t want to miss out on accompanying us to the station. Although, as always, they are worried about us, I can see the relief on their faces, the relief of seeing me on the bike in good spirits after all the recent challenges.
Without incident, we load our bikes with trailer and saddlebags into the bike compartment of the train. “Take care of yourselves,” my mother whispers, hugging me. “Sure, we’ll look after ourselves. You take care of yourselves,” I reply and laugh. Tears roll down my father’s cheeks. He turns to the side to hide his pain. “You’ll see. Before you know it, time will be up and we’ll be back at your door with lots of new stories to tell,” we shout and wave to them as the iron queue starts to move. Then we settle down next to our bikes and can hardly believe that we are actually on the road again. “Phew. How do you feel?” asks Tanja. “Like in a beautiful dream. And if it is one, I don’t want to wake up from it too quickly. It’s one of the greatest things for me to be on the road again,” I reply contentedly. “I’m also happy about our departure. But above all, it’s nice to see that you can move normally again.” “Hm, I hope my back holds out and I manage to load our heavy equipment onto the Romanian train without any damage.” “Don’t worry about that. I’m sure you’ll manage. I’m sure of it,” I hear her confident words and feel them permeate my body like refreshment.
After three changes and about 13 hours, we reach Vienna. We wait spellbound on platform number 4 for the train from Romania. We arrived here 6 months ago on the same train and were delighted to be able to set foot on Austrian soil. Now we are looking forward to getting back to where we left off on our journey. We know that it is forbidden to load bicycles into the compartment but we have no other chance than to try. Tanja and I agree to gather all our strength and drag all our belongings into the wagon, with or without permission. “He’s coming!” shouts Tanja. Squealing and screeching, the iron menace comes to a halt. I immediately unhitch the trailers from the bikes, rush into the train, look for our sleeping compartment, open the window and wave Tanja to hand me the saddlebags through the window. I quickly put everything in the luggage rack. The exertion opens my pores and sweat pours down my face. “I’ve found a Mexican who will help you carry the heavy trailer box into the compartment!” Tanja calls to me. “No problem my friend,” he says and heaves the 56-kilogram crate up with me. The Austrian conductor shakes his head. “You’ll have to disembark with this stuff in Bucharest at the latest,” I think I hear. “We made it here by train from Bucharest and hopefully we’ll get there again,” I reply and try to smile. As the Mexican man heaves the heavy crate with me around the narrow corner of the corridor, it depends on whether my back holds up. It pulls, I have to twist hard and don’t have the slightest chance of taking my injury into consideration. “Please hang in there,” I whisper to myself for strength and courage. “Stop!” I shout before the Zargesbox slips out of my hands and thunders to the floor. After a short break, we angle the heavy thing from the narrow corridor, around the corner into our compartment and lift it onto the middle bed with our last ounce of strength. “Thank you, that’s very kind of you,” I say and pat the young man on the shoulder. “No problem,” he grins and helps Tanja and me to load the rest of the equipment. Then it’s the wheels’ turn. Having already gained enough experience from the ride here on how to get a bulky bike around the angled corners, I lift the frame up and roll our valuable means of transportation around the bends into the small compartment on the rear wheel. With the last of my strength, I heave one of the delite blacks onto the lower bunk with the front wheel so that I can also close the door of the compartment. According to the conductor, absolutely everything in the room must disappear and the door must be closed. “If you don’t lock the door at night, it’s easy to get robbed while you’re sleeping,” the railroad official warns us.
We are relieved when the train leaves the city of Vienna behind at around 20:00. “That went well again,” says Tanja with a smile. We both stand at the window outside our bedroom and look out at the fields flying by. The warm early summer wind blows in our faces. We are sure that we cannot be forced to unload the bikes at any station. The stops are too short. It also looks like the Austrian conductor is on our side. “I wonder what the Romanian staff will say when they discover the bikes,” I say. “We’ll see,” Tanja replies, hugging me. “If someone had told me that a week ago, I would have thought they were crazy,” I say quietly. “What do you mean?” “Well, I feel like a miracle has happened. I’ve just dragged the ultra-heavy Zarges box through the aisles, juggled two bikes through the compartment and my intervertebral disc, including the neuritis, has obviously withstood the strain. It’s absolutely fantastic,” I chatter. “You believed in yourself, pursued your goal and thought positively. You’ve been rewarded for that,” Tanja replies. Later on, we huddle in our fully furnished accommodation and enjoy the delicious potato salad and Nuremberg sausages that my mother prepared for us at 4 o’clock this morning. As darkness falls, we crawl into our bunks, tired from our exertions, close the compartment door with a strap and fall into a restless sleep.
