Inn-Czech Trek

 Prologue: 30 June 2013

It was a week ago today that I was on this epic ride that I had fantasied about for years but only planned on short term.  On that second day I had doubts that I would finish it as planned with the elements coming against me.  As much as I desire to perform such experiences on my own, I also love to share them with any who will listen or read.  I cannot expect anyone to truly know what it’s like to ride a bike over 100 miles (161 km) days on end without doing it him or herself.  So I include this brief prologue to best convey this experience.

Many ask me why I do such things – why it would give me any pleasure.  After a lot of practice riding a mere 100 miles in a day can be rather routine – a 150 miles or the occasional 200+ mile day rides are usually where the challenges come in.  Usually the only pleasure I get is when it’s all over.  Some of the most agonizing moments I have each year is when I catch myself stuck in the middle of another one of my brainless tours.  So why even bother?  I’m sure Edmund Hillary did not fancy frost growing on his whiskers.  A marathon runner can bring himself to the brink of collapse when reaching for the gold medal.  I’m sure few women describe giving birth as a pleasure, but many inspire it for what it brings.   Why did Jesus fast in the desert for forty days?  What was in it for him? I’ve tried that a couple of times and could never make it past 48 hours.  It should be no surprise to anyone that my tours give me the excitement of challenge, a badge of honor that I can wear for the rest of my life.  Because I force myself to go harshly against my flesh’s desire, it is also a form of fasting for me.

I will explain what fasting means to me and invite any true-believing Christian to criticize my view and tell me where I get this wrong.  You see, every person is born with a body and a soul.  When someone accepts Christ into their life, they receive the Holy Spirit – God in us.  A human soul is abstract, nonetheless is has a specific size; it doesn’t grow or shrink nor is anyone’s soul larger than anyone else’s.  Initially the soul is full of one’s will of the flesh (body) – the only way for the spirit to fit in, is to make room by yielding out the desire of the flesh.  Thus fasting opens the door to the soul.

Taking a bike ride for an hour or two can be refreshing, yes even a pleasure.  It is not always the case when starting early in the morning and pressing hard till sundown….or even later.  There’s no question that a good physical condition is essential.  If I were overweight and a smoker I’d probably not make it past the town limits. I tell you without a doubt that a healthy spirit is all the more essential than the physical being. A planned tour is usually won or defeated in the mind; it is a battle between the flesh and the spirit.  So often before a major ride my body reacts like a separate entity in contrast to my goal.  Like a puppy whimpering as it is being dragged to a doggy bath I’ve experienced psychological coughing fits, cold sweats and upset stomachs.

You have to fill your mind with energy that will push the body beyond what may seem possible.

The mind is the greatest MP3 player imaginable, it can switch songs instantaneously, alter them, change rhythms and put them into a rolling repeat that is never, never monotonous.  Before a tour I like to preprogram a song or two that will play over and over and quite often other songs will mysteriously find themselves on the playlist.  I’ve had many songs that I did not even like come into play, but later I would love them for the memory stuck to them.  I also like to encompass film clips in my head allowing fantasy to alter my reality; like with music, the film clips can be altered to fit the atmosphere.  Such films never have anything to do with biking, but are always energetic.  Some of my favorites are:  A Space Odyssey 2001, the sequel 2010, Star Wars, Predator, Tron Legacy and Star Trek. If I explain how this works for me, you may think me on the fringe of insanity.  I will get intimate in this, so read with care.

22 June 2013, Day 1

Strasbourg, France (close to Baden-Baden): High temperature 77F – 25C

Feldkirch, Austria: High temperature 70F – 21C

My watch alarm went off at 6:10, the same time I would wake for the entire journey.  My bed was drenched in sweat as is normally the case when I do something like this.  Being home allowed me the breakfast of choice: two bananas cut up into a large bowl of Muesli with a cup of ginseng tea.  I realized with great regret that the irritation I had been feeling at the back of my mouth and throat was not an allergy, but I had picked up a cold virus.  I took a week off work and naturally I couldn’t push it a week down the calendar the Saturday before it started.  The day’s weather was quite good, but the forecast beyond that was getting worse with each update.  I wanted to hit the abort button, but I continued to spread the sunscreen on my skin before pulling up the shorts and slipping into my tricot.  I decided I would rather fail in trying than not trying at all.  As a last bit of insult to injury my watch slipped off my wrist as a little piece of the band clip had chipped off; I removed the band and slipped the watch into my tricot pocket.

I got out of the house by 7:15; I was a bit disappointed in myself for I would have preferred an earlier start on the first day, but it wasn’t too bad a time to push off.  I headed south on Bundestrasse 3 to Offenburg; the wind was coming right at me moderately to suppress my speed.  I frequently cleared my throat from the viral irritation.  The hardest part is always getting out of the house.  Normally my heart is beating with positive anticipation, but it just wasn’t happening.  The last song I had heard on the radio was Rihanna’s “Stay,” it’s no surprise that it was playing onward in my head; I didn’t want it there.  I tried to replace it with a song that I had preprogrammed but it kept slipping back to “Stay.”  After a while I decided the “Stay” song could stay as its melancholy melody truly fit the feeling.

After passing Offenburg and turning up the Kinzig valley and rolling just past the lovely village of Ortenberg I shed my jacket to be rolled up and tied behind my back; it was well drenched in sweat but I would have to allow it to dry out later on.  After swinging around the lovely medieval walled town of Gengenbach I biked along the lonely forest-rimmed road on the Kinzig’s northern side interlinking the many tiny Black Forest villages.  The lines of trees served well to block the opposing wind, but I was always anxious to get back into the sunlight to warm my skin.  I had a string of things that I was regretting, but I truly appreciated the almost perfect weather on this first day.

At Hausach I turned south again up the Gutach valley, my favorite place in my favorite forest.  There were an unusually lower amount of cars on this major traffic artery.  I wondered why so few tourists were driving to Triberg and the famous waterfalls.  The Gutach valley has the best concentration of traditional Black Forest homes with dark wood, thatched roofs and flowers overflowing from their balconies.  The road frequently comes along the Gutach brook and you can see it cascading over the rocks. The thick forest growth seemed to block all wind yet allowed the sun to hit the road and warm my body.  The cars and the traffic seemed to fade from the landscape as my bike flowed with the turns in the road.  Quite by surprise the song I had preprogrammed to play in my head finally kicked in.  It took some 50 miles; I had gone into full biking mode.

Ellie Goulding's Lights (click to play)

There are three tunnels boring through the rocks on the way to Triberg, each no more than 200 meters long.  As the tunnels are so short, there is no indication that a biker could not pass through, even though each has a detour around the bends.  The first of these tunnels has a detour I wouldn’t wish to miss, even in a hurry.  I had taken one of my best photos ever here, where teams of trees and ferns hover over the bubbling brook.

The road climbs moderately from Hausach to Triberg, averaging no more than 4% grade.  At Triberg there is a hard left turn and a 300 meter climb on a 3 kilometer stretch to the pass, which is the European Continental Divide.  It was my third time on this stretch of road, and I enjoyed the climb about as much as I did coming down from the other direction a year ago.  It’s about 15 miles or 24 kilometers to Villingen with a drop of just 175 meters, but I felt that I was flying down the whole way.  I made a quick drink break from a fountain in the city center.

I had altered my course for this first leg of the trip only a couple of days prior.  I wanted to know the distance from my home to my desired first day destination and falk.de showed me that I could reach this destination going straight for Konstanz and ride on the Swiss side of the Lake Constance.  This brought me on a stretch of road that I had not yet seen, but crossed only once.  I passed by Bad Dürrheim and coasted to bottom of the Danube valley at Geisingen, where the mighty Danube is so tiny, it would not be suitable to take any boat larger than a canoe.

The climb up the opposite side of the Danube was up a darkly forested mountainside.  At the top I had reached a different part of the continental divide, to where the watershed drops toward Lake Constance and the upper Rhine.  I could see a couple of sharply pointed but forested mountaintops that a former student of mine told me are from ancient volcanoes.

I had a swift coast down to the town of Engen and I sought out a place to have lunch.  I did not record my mileage at this point, but I remembered it to be around 95 miles (153 kms)  I ordered a Hawaiian Schnitzel with Spätzle, which was delicious.  I became a bit worried that I was not able to finish my portion; I couldn’t imagine having anything left in my stomach after biking 95 miles.  The cold symptoms that had seemed to fade away earlier were again evident.

I rode along lesser country roads through little villages toward the lake but ended up coasting right into the larger town of Singen, which I was trying my best to avoid.  I used the main highway to get to Radolfzell to the chagrin of a few motorists who thought I should be on the bike path.  From Radolfzell to Konstanz I did use the bike path, which was both wide and not overcrowded like on the northern side of the lake that I was so happy to avoid this day.  On this fourth time in biking to Lake Constance, it was my first time on the northern side of the lesser Zellersee and to the beautiful city of Konstanz.  I made a drink break at a Turkish supermarket less than 100 meters to the Swiss border crossing.

I crossed into Switzerland and returned to a place I hadn’t seen since 1995 when I biked around the big lake.  I loved returning to the Swiss side of the lake where cyclists ride on lanes connected to the main road.  This allowed me to reach the Austrian corner of Lake Constance in swift time and I had dinner in the village of Gaissau, at the same Gasthaus where I spent the night three years prior, only ownership changed hands.  I had spaghetti carbonara.

After dinner I crossed back into Switzerland, not more than 50 meters from the restaurant for my continuation towards Liechtenstein.  I decided to take the main highway south instead of the Rhine path I had used three years ago.  I was ignorant of the fact that the Swiss side of the upper Rhine corridor is rather wide and I figured that if I was riding along where it was flat, I should be going straight toward Liechtenstein.  That wasn’t until I reached the town of Altstätten and saw that I was heading straight for the mountains.  I was quite shocked when I got on a different major road to make a correction and it was several kilometers back to the Rhine.  I was not too upset as Feldkirch was on the other side in Austria and I had got there quicker than expected.

The sun was getting low and I was not in the mood to continue into the darkness.  I would not be reaching Bludenz, as I had hoped, but I pushed myself to get one more settlement up the Alfenz valley past Feldkirch to a village called Frastanz, only about 10 miles (16 kilometers) short of that intended goal.  I congratulated myself for pushing out 185 miles (297 kilometers) against the wind and with a head cold.  I scanned the horizon and smiled as the moon rose over the mountains to the east; the rocky Alpine mountains were in every direction – it was quite the change of atmosphere for a day’s ride under my own steam.

The hotel room was for a very modest price, I apparently didn’t keep the receipt, but I remember it being around 30€ with breakfast.  I walked a bit down the road to a pub to have a beer.  I had designated the month of June to be alcohol free, but for the exception of the evenings of this tour.  I didn’t enjoy the beer much with the smoke in the pub that only amplified my cold suffering.  The room I was sleeping did not include a blow dryer, so I would not have the opportunity to wash my clothes.  What was most important was a warm shower and I slept like a rock.

23 June 2013, Day 2

Feldkirch, Austria:  High temperature 64F – 18C

Stuben, Austria (closest village to Arlberg Pass): High temperature 57F – 14C

Imst, Austria: High temperature 61F – 16C

Breakfast was at 7:00.  I always opt for the earliest time available.  A group of four men from the Hessische Westerwald were the only others present in the Essenzimmer besides me.  The sun occasionally broke through to the valley bottom between loads of clouds bumping into the mountains.  It was quite a beautiful sight.

There was no denying the suffering I was feeling; the cold I had was spreading to my lungs.  I knew that today was going to be the most challenging part of the whole tour and I had to do it with this illness. I feared my persistence would risk bringing me down with pneumonia. I wasn’t going to back down, there was just no chance for that, I had come too far.  My nerves were pushed to the brink when I stepped outside to the cold air.  It looked too beautiful to be so cold.  I passed several steep pastures where forests tumbled down from gray rocky cliffs.  Dozens of bell-collared cows feasting on the lush meadow grass produced hypnotic harmonies that pulled me from my misery into a euphoric daze.

Cold as it was, it was also extremely humid.  I knew that the stretch to Bludenz should be only a mild climb from my starting point according to the elevation figures on the map.  In the ten miles to reach Bludenz, my jacket had become drenched in sweat.  When the sunlight reached me, it was not all that bad, but the shadows were killers.  Some two miles past Bludenz I stopped to sit on a public bench to take off my jacket and allow the sun to dry as well as my tricot.  No sooner than it took for me to sit, a cloud arrived to block the sun.  I looked up shivering and waiting for the cloud to drift on, but it sat there hanging onto a mountaintop like a bloated jellyfish in a tidal pool with nowhere to go.

I don’t know where I got the energy to move on.  I thought of things to be thankful for: it wasn’t raining, the sun shone at times and the wind was pushing hard from behind.  Putting on my jacket was like putting on a wet bathing suit.  No further than a couple hundred of meters up the road the sun broke through again.  This time I pulled up next to a closed-down Gasthaus with a vast bright yellow wall facing the sun.  Taking off my jacket I could feel the weight of sweat of my tricot, so wet that I could squeeze drops from it.  The radiation of the sun against the wall was so soothing I thought that I may have developed a fever and be suffering from some sort of delusion.  I stood against the wall and frequently rotated my body like one would turn a bratwurst on a grill.  The switch from misery to pleasure was like a wild dream.  I became so relaxed that I fell asleep standing up and my knees buckling awoke me.  I can’t remember if I was there a half hour, forty-five minutes or an hour; I lost track not having a watch on my wrist.  My jacket, with its black fabric, dried out rather well.  My tricot could have dried out more, but it would have to do as was.  I felt good enough to tie my jacket up and continue with the climb.

It was right after Bludenz that the road often went up in steep climbs.  The mountain heights were closing in all around as I went up.  I saw a curious vertical stripe in the mountains and thought I saw it move.  I got closer to see my eyes weren’t playing tricks and I was looking up at a massive waterfall.  It wasn’t till I got home that I could look it up and learn that the Mason waterfall near Innerbraz has a 70 meter (230 foot) free drop.  When I plan a trip, I only plan a route and do not research an area beyond that what I already know; this is one of many pleasant surprises I have along the way.

I believe I had more experience of riding a bike in tunnels on this day than all other previous days combined.  In Germany it is very rare to find any tunnel legal for a bike to pass and those that are, are usually quite short.  I came to the first of some five or six tunnels I would pass that day.  There was no other way.  The path leading around to the side had the no biking sign, not the tunnel.  I was hoping the climb would level out a bit in the tunnel.  That was not the case.  The gradient in each tunnel seemed to average about 10%.  This first tunnel was only 360 meters long; I wished that could have passed it much quicker than I did.  Each car comes with the roar of a freight train.  By the sound alone it impossible to determine if a car is coming from behind or in front.  Each car is no less loud when it is 100 meters distant than when it’s right next to you.  The experience is so intense I forgot how cold it was to be in the shadows. Many of these tunnels are a type of half-tunnels or “Galleries” as they are called.  They are simply overhangs with windows on one side, designed to protect the road from snow drifts and avalanches.  Galleries offer the comfort of more light, but the acoustics are no less overwhelming.

I will not lie and I must tell you that I was moving up to the Arlbergpass at a snail’s pace.  I stopped to recover my senses so often, I lost count.  I was really suffering but determined to do this even with my illness.  The last of the tunnels in the ascent was a monster.  It was a 1030 meter-long tunnel followed by an 835 meter-long gallery.  There was a path going around to the side neither indicated to be used by bikes nor to warn against it.  I decided that I wished not to waste time and just get this tunnel over with.  I was exhausted and it seemed an eternity. The gradient in this tunnel had to be around 12%; it was a terrifying experience.  At all times there was at least one car somewhere in that tunnel.  I thought that forcing prisoners of war to ride a bike through an Alpine tunnel could be a new form of waterboarding.  It seemed ages to get past the solid portion of the tunnel; some 300 meters deep in the gallery portion there was a window without glass by a tiny outlet.  I could take it no longer and I pulled my bike into the outlet.  I looked out the window and saw that there was a finely paved path just outside the gallery.  I pulled my bike through the window.  I took off my helmet and slapped my hand against my forehead.  “You mean I could have avoided all this crap?!!” Who was I shouting to? “I could never stand going through that sort of hell again. But by golly I’m so glad that I’ve just done that!”  I began to laugh so hard that I had to pull off my shades not to allow the tears to smear them. The acoustics of the traffic inside of the tunnel was well subdued once away from the open window.  I heard the beautiful chorus of a group of cows grazing below and I pulled out my camera to photograph them.  I had tears running down my cheeks as I had put myself through so much stress in the past few hours.  It was so hard and I loved it all the more.  This portion of the adventure was far from over.  I noticed that my cold symptoms seemed to only kick in when I stopped, so I thought it best to keep going.

I arrived to the last village before the pass.  I could see part of the serpentine hanging above the village.  I actually looked forward to the serpentine, the gradient there is usually less among such hard curves.  It was as I imagined but after the serpentine there was a long steep stretch to the pass that varied between 8 and 12% grade.  Normally I’d just want to press through and get it over with.   My cold symptoms forced me to pull over some three times in the final three miles.  In this final stretch I could see the height of my ascent by seeing snow at eye level and being encompassed in the clouds.  I was seeing each of my breaths condensate in front of me, even as I pushed uphill on the bike.

My last stop before the pass was a bay in the road where a couple of vehicles were parked.  There were three men there for some sort of purpose.  One of the men walked up to me and told me to relax, for the pass was only about 1000 meters further.  The news was a relief to me.

“Haben Sie durst?” he asked. (Are you thirsty?) He held up a plastic bottle to me.

“Ja, Wie viel?” I replied. (Ya, How much?)

„Nichts zu kaufen,“ he replied. He was just giving it to me.

Whatever it was, it tasted so good.  I promised that I would further promote the product on FB.  There was apparently a bike race coming over this pass and these men were there to hand out drinks.  This man told me that I should put on my jacket in such cold.  I explained that I’d rather suffer a bit on the way up to have a dry jacket on the way down.  It was quite a coincidence that these men were from a sports club in Forchheim by Karlsruhe – a mere five kilometers from my place of work, but this pass was no less than 300 kilometers from Forchheim.  Their act of kindness was well appreciated.  Indeed the pass was close by, I discovered.  It was more like 800 meters in my view.  I jubilated in reaching the 1793 meter (5883 foot) high Arlberg Pass, the highest point I’ve ever ridden my bike in Europe.  I stopped for a 3.50€ cup of tea in the cafe, I would have paid more just to warm up some.  I rejoiced that the hardest part of my ride was behind me, at least so I thought.

After my tea break I knew the road down would be extreme.  I’m glad I kept my jacket dry.  A sign warned of descents up to 13%.  I was uneasy for the chill against my skin made it difficult to steer. I just kept barreling down twists and turns as I dropped out of the clouds, but it was still cold.  Few cars were coming from the other direction and there was just no way anyone was going to pass me up from behind.  Then there was a tunnel, I guess it was about as long as the big one coming up.  I couldn’t tell you how long it was as I whizzed through it so quickly.  I let out a roar and this time it was my own voice that sounded like a freight train.

On the other side of the tunnel I was no longer under a dark shroud of clouds and that it would be any moment that I would be getting some direct rays.  I stopped at a scenic outlook point to get a photo of my bike close to the snowy mountaintops without them being fully obscured as they were at the pass. I did not wish to stop riding as the descent was so swift and fun, even the wind was at my back. The first village of significant size beyond the pass is Sankt Anton; I well-remembered this village being mentioned in my German book back in high school.

I reached the village of Flirsch and saw a fine-looking Gasthaus with patrons in the biergarten; it was the right time for lunch.  The waitresses were dressed in traditional Tyrolean fashion, similar to that of the Black Forest; it was both elegant and alluring.  I wanted to take a photo of them, but was too shy.  I ordered something under the traditional Tyrolean cuisine called Gröstl: a potato dish with cubes of meat, bacon bits and egg.  Sometimes, like the day before, a hard bike tour can upset the system and make eating difficult.  Strangely biking can also amplify the senses that everything tastes three times as good, which was the case on this day.  I first indulged in the bacon bit cabbage salad that had the perfect balance of oil and vinegar.  I’m glad I photo’d the meal to remember how good it was.  To drink, I had Almdudler: it’s like some sort of Austrian herbal soda pop, but with less sugar, it tastes a bit like Radler (a German tradition of mixing beer with Sprite) but no alcohol – I had become obsessed with the drink and it was my drink of choice for the rest of the trip in Austria and for future visits for that matter.

There was a brief light rain shower as I ate, so light that I just remained seated, but the other patrons retreated to sheltered tables, about ten minutes later I joined them.  Fortunately this shower did not last long and the streets were reasonably dry by the time I wanted to move on. Down to the town of Landeck I got my first view of the Inn River, the official beginning of the “Inn” part of my tour.   The Inn, like many Alpine rivers, has a milky-vanilla ice cream color to it.  I stopped when I saw two young ladies in full traditional dress with these gaudy bright pink ties with the word “Sexy” on them. 

“Darf ich ein Foto von Euch machen?“ I requested. 

„Ja, na sicher,” one of them replied.

The descent, once in the main Inn valley, was no longer so steep.  I noticed how the wind was no longer in my favor but coming hard against me.  The skies were growing dark and I knew my fortune would not last long.  Way back up the valley to the west, where I had been, I could see that it was raining.  I thought that I could continue the down-hill trek and outrun the storm, but the wind was coming so hard against me.  I realized that I was in the midst of an atmospheric convergence as I had been where the wind was blowing hard from the opposite direction and it was only a matter of time before the rain would reach me.  I made a drink break at a petrol station in Imst and tried to make it as quickly as possible.  I made the decision not to start looking for a place to stay until the first drops fell; I had made it only to the next village.  Pulling up to a Gasthaus that was being renovated, a man up on the balcony told me of another Hotel down the road.  I reached this other Hotel, just as the man described to me – it looked cozy but was unfortunately fully booked.  The rain passed by so quickly, but I knew another wave would be coming through soon enough.  I enjoyed an Almdudler while I waited for the streets to dry.

There was just enough time to make it to the next village and to a petrol station before the rain could get past the outer layer of my jacket.  A young man chatting with one of the station attendants on her cigarette break inquired me about my ride.  He could hear that I was neither Austrian nor German and spoke to me in English.  I pulled up my chair to sit with him.  I wouldn’t say his English was as good as my German, but much better than most of my students, so I obliged to continue the chat in English.  It was clear that this wave of rain was not going to break up anytime soon.  I continued to sit there like a stubborn child hoping for the best.  I cannot recall when I had to bail out on the day’s ride, but I was sure that I would have had at least three more hours of riding time, if the weather had been more favorable.  The young man told me about a hotel down a steep winding road near the train station (Ötztal Bahnhof).  He also said that there should be a number of places to stay in the next village down the road, Haiming. I rolled down to this road in the rain to the station; it was only about a half-mile, so I did not get too wet.

I found the hotel the young man described to me as well as another he mentioned; one was closed and the other was fully booked up.  I’m glad I remembered what the young man said about Haiming.  I did not find Haiming to be as far away as five kilometers, but it was far enough for me to get completely drenched.  I was limited to just 77 miles (124 kilometers) for the day.  This was to be the shortest leg of the entire tour, but the day I took the most photos.  I failed to make my RDMM (Recommended Daily Minimum Mileage) I was not about to push out another 23 miles in the cold rain to reach 100.

I found the Hotel Stern and a kind-hearted little lady met me at the entrance; she had a room for me.  I asked if there was a blow dryer in the room; there was no question that I would have to wash my clothes this night.  She told me that she will do whatever necessary to get me a blow dryer and showed me my room.  My room was accessible by walking around to the back of the hotel; I could keep my bike safe at the bottom of the stairwell past the door.  I had the whole floor to myself, two bedrooms, a kitchen, bathroom, and the front entrance was in itself like an extra room.  There were windows facing all directions, of course all the clouds were obscuring everything 200 meters above the ground.

“Wie viel?” I asked.

“25€”

“Twenty-five Euros!! With breakfast!!You gotta be kidding me?” I didn’t say.

I grabbed a towel to dry myself as much as I could before going back down for dinner.  I ordered Grillteller and yes, beer – two of them in fact.  My senses were on overdrive, everything tasted so good.  Back up in the room I slept like a rock.  It was so peaceful; I was in the best possible place at such a time.

24 June 2013, Day 3

Imst, Austria: 52F – 11C

It was raining rather lightly when I awoke; I wasn’t going anywhere too soon.  I figured that the streets could dry quickly enough should the rain stop as they did not appear fully saturated, as I supposed the rain had ceased for a long time over the night.  I took my time drying my clothes before breakfast.  The rain started thickening; my sojourn at this cozy little hotel was evidentially going to last at least another hour or two.

It was cold going outside to get to the dining room. Another guest told me that it was only 8 degrees C outside (47F)  While eating breakfast I heard on the radio that “Schneeregen” (sleet) was currently falling in Sankt Anton, which is 500 meters below the Arlberg Pass – there is no question that the mountain pass I had conquered the day before was covered in snow.

I went back to the room and watched TV and hoped for a break in the weather.  I got a station that showed the radar image over Austria.  They even gave a name to this titanic low pressure south of Sweden, just as they give names to hurricanes.  Cold air rushing down from Scandinavia was colliding with moist air over the Adriatic and Balkan nations producing rain, but I was well north of this jet stream and the forecast was for record cold temperatures for the days to come.  It became clear that I was stuck in this place for another night.  I thought about how I have made many little rides in sub-freezing temperatures, but they were usually not longer than just 30 miles (48 kilometers) and I had the proper clothing for it.  I was in my summer dress; the jacket I had was only to help me past the chill of the morning.  I looked back in my memory and recalled twice making century rides on days where it was sub 60F (16C), but I was wearing full leg coverings.

I had all day to pray and meditate.  I concentrated on finding reasons to be thankful.  I was past the Arlberg Pass, such a big thing I was happy to have behind me.  The hotel was really cheap and so nice.  In deep prayer I felt like God was asking me a question: “Have you noticed something?”  “Have I noticed what?” I wondered.  “That cold you had. It’s gone.”  My lungs were clear, no fever; I felt really good. How could I have healed so quickly? 

After so much meditation I came down for dinner with a positive attitude. .  I had Rahmschnitzel and enjoyed the evening. I got in a conversation with a Dutch couple whose German was really good; it’s funny how the errors in their vocabulary or grammar seemed to come out in English.  I went over to sit with them and they pulled out some maps so I could show them were I had been and where I planned to go in the days to come.  I told them about my epic ride to the city of Maastricht in their home country two years before.  I told them how much I liked Utrecht and they agree it is the nicest city in their country.  When it was time to hit the sa         ck I slept as well as I had the night before.

25 June 2013, Day 4

Imst, Austria: 52F – 11C

Rosenheim, Germany: 59F – 15C

It wasn’t raining in the morning, the streets were still wet and the forecast for the day was for cold and intermediate showers.  After breakfast I was able to get on the road at about 8:30 as the streets had become dry enough.  The cold air did not bother me as much as I would have expected, I was fully charged and ready to go.  The sky was filled with clouds blanketing the mountains; at least I could see more details about me, but no trace of sun.  I knew that the elevation of where I was staying was 800 meters and that it would slowly get warmer as I would follow the course of the Inn.

Everywhere I looked was breathtaking, yet terrifyingly somber.  There seemed to be a rather large mountain to my left; it was hard to tell with all the clouds plummeting into it.  Only about 10 miles underway and it was getting noticeably darker.  I looked behind me to see that it was raining where I had been staying the night.  The big mountain on my left stood like an evil tower pulling in the clouds and making them bigger to create rain.  Way out in front of me I could see that the clouds were thinner, possibly even breaking up.  I felt that if I could thrust myself forward, I could avoid the imminent storm, but if I failed that I could be stuck there for the rest of the day.  Drops started to hit my skin, large ones.  The street in front of me was long from being purely saturated, so I pressed on.  It kept getting darker yet my eyes were fixed on the brighter skies in front of me that seemed to be closing up.  Drops were falling more frequently; a thin film of water was forming on the road.  I do not have to explain how uncomfortable it would be to be riding in the rain with a temperature at about 48F (9C).  Once water gets picked up off the street from my back wheel and gets flung onto the seat, the lubricants become useless.  Within a few minutes, even after the rain ceases, the skin on the backside will become irritated.  Left untreated a rash will form and further negligence will bring about severe swelling and oozing sores in the seat area. Not to mention what complications come with wet feet.  I couldn’t stop looking at the light so far out in front, but the darkness kept coming closer.  My heart was focused on going forward and the will of my flesh just wanted to find a place of shelter.  What ensued was the greatest mental battle of the trip.  My spirit and flesh seemed to take on voices of their own.  Captain Kirk was the voice of the spirit and rest of the crew of the Starship Enterprise was the flesh.  I felt the cold rain getting into my socks and then an alarm went off; it was like that of the Starship Enterprise.

Red Alert. Red Alert. Red Alert.

Kirk: What was that?

Spock: The computer has picked up an explosion about twelve parsecs to starboard.  A class M star has imploded and the nebula is spreading quickly.

Kirk: Raise the shields. Full impulse to port.

Chekov: Aye, aye, Captain.

Spock:  We are only buying ourselves time.  When the outer rim of that nova hits us the ion storm will pass the shield and penetrate the hull.

Kirk: How much time do we have?

Spock: Minutes not hours.

Kirk:  Scotty, how much time do you need on the warp drive?

Scotty:  Sir, the engine is fully operational. We just don’t have the power for warp speed with the shields up.

Zulu:  I’m scanning the area for planetary systems whose atmospheres are able to withstand the ion storm.

Kirk: Outpost K-87 will not survive without our help.  We will not fail them and get stuck on some planet for the rest of our lives. Scotty, transfer all power from the shields to the warp drive.

Scotty: But captain, if we do that….

Kirk: Do it now!

Chekov: Awaiting your orders, Captain.

Kirk: Increase speed to warp on my mark. Mark!

Zulu: Increasing speed to warp one.

The shroud of darkness was slipping behind me.  The rain had ceased and the road in front of me was dry.  Going slightly downhill and the wind at my back I was flying down the road in excess of 30 mph (48kms) for a long stretch of time.  The sky in front of me opened up and I could even see a bit of blue sky.  I could feel my shoes and socks were drying out with the thrust of air blasting past them.  By the time I reached the town of Telfs, I caught a bit of direct sunlight, but it did not last but a few seconds.  I got a lot of direct sunlight while standing on a bridge in Innsbruck; the clouds obscured most of the mountainous horizon.  It almost felt warm enough to shed the jacket, but knew better not to.  As beautiful as I found Innsbruck, I was happy to leave it behind; I was so nervous that I might get one of my tires to slip into one of the city tram rails.  Such an accident could have been a tour ender.

I stopped to make a drink break at a Spar mini mart in a lovely village with an onion-towered church called “Pill.”  I sat at the mart’s sole little round table right next to the cashier; she commented that it was such a cold day to be biking.  I mentioned that I was just happy to have the opportunity to be able to move along without the rain.  She asked about my ride and I was happy to have someone so eager to strike up conversation.

Some two miles after my drink break I had to take evasive action and seek shelter under a barn from a passing rain shower.  The shower lasted for some 15 minutes and then I had to wait a good while longer after that for the water to run off the streets.  It was one of a few times I had to halt my ride because of rain on this day.  I was becoming troubled with all this time being lost to the elements, so I came up with a remedy.  Once the rain ceased falling I would proceed down the road, preferably on a side path or sidewalk, at about a third normal speed not to allow my back wheel to sling much water from the road to my derrière.  I would also raise my backside up from the saddle for further measure.  At a minimum, I could precede two or three miles down the road in the time it takes for the water to run off, but in most cases I could roll past the extent of where the shower rains fell to dry road and continue along with my tour at full speed.  This new method was key to making my RDMM on this day.

As soon I was on dry road again, I realized that I needed to make a lunch break.  I passed through a couple of villages looking for the next Gasthaus.  I had seen a few and they had “Dienstag Ruhetag” or “Montag und Dienstag Ruhetag.”  I cursed, “Lazy Austrians, I’m hungry, dang it.”  I rode past the village limits sign of Buch-Maurach.  I do not exaggerate when I tell you that my nose picked up that Gasthaus some 500 meters before my eyes spotted it.  It was a great stop.  I had Zillertäler Krapfen: potato filled pockets and Almdudler for drink.

Throughout most of the day, the clouds rarely allowed me to see the mountain peaks.  Most of the snow I was seeing was that which had fallen in the past two days.  As dark as the clouds were, I was able to see far.  On one occasion I pulled over to take shelter at a bus stop as I got close to a passing shower; the worst of it fell well in front of me and I had to use the “reduced speed remedy” to get past the wet streets.     

By late afternoon I reached the German border as the Inn exits the realm of the Alps.  I passed through a gem of a village crested on the top of a steep hill by the name of Neubeurern.  It was another one of those special surprises to be seen along my route, so beautiful and worthy of a few photos.   Some ten miles into Bavaria I turned back to take my last photo of the Alps on this tour; I enjoyed my time there but was happy to be in a land which is both a bit warmer and drier.

The sky in front of my path professed to me that my day’s ride was going to have to end soon; this was no simple shower but a wall of rain that was likely going to fall into the night.  It was about 18:00 (6pm) to my memory.  I pressed forward with great effort to make get as far as I could.  When the first drops hit me I looked at my tachometer and saw that I had completed 101 miles for the day.  I shouted with joy for just making it past my RDMM (Recommended Daily Minimum Mileage).  It happened in a good place, for I was right opposite the Inn from Rosenheim, Germany’s largest town on the Inn after Passau; a place that should be easy to find a hotel. 

The rain was coming down pretty hard when crossing the bridge, I got soaked rather quickly.  I thrusted myself into the town center and the first and second hotel I found were fully booked.  The next place was a three-star hotel priced at 89€, a bit high for my palette.  A kind waitress informed me of a traditional Bavarian Gasthaus at the second place I had checked; I should have gone there first.  I proceeded through the city on foot by part to be able to walk in part under sheltered areas, as the rain was really coming down hard; strangely I did not feel that cold, but it was cold indeed.   There was a room available for me at the hotel.  I had completed the day with 105 miles (169 kilometers).

One look inside this Gasthaus was all I needed to know that I was in the right place.  It was filled with hunting trophies, antlers and old relics.  I want up to the room to dry off and came back down to have Schwäbische Pfanne with Spätzle and some good dark beer. I had ice-cream filled crepes for dessert.   It’s at times like these that the labor of my cycling pays off; I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else, a true feeling of euphoria. 

The Heizung (heating radiators) in the room were functioning, so much the better than a blow-dryer to dry off my clothes after washing them.  The price of the room was for 50€, which was well worth the price and by far the most I had to pay for any accommodation for the entire trip.

26 June 2013, Day 5

Rosenheim, Germany:  59F – 15C

Passau, Germany:  60F – 16C

I had the option of starting breakfast as early as 6:00, but with wet streets outside and clothing that needed a tad bit more time to dry, I got down to the dining room for breakfast at around 7:00.  I forgot to take note, but it was probably around 8:00 when I was on the road again.  I’m sure it wasn’t      any colder than the previous morning, but somehow it hurt more.  I went over to the other side of the Inn to continue my ride towards Passau.

Some 10 or so miles underway I had to retreat to a bus stop shelter in time before a passing shower swept through; it lasted about a half-hour.  Sometime after the rain had ceased and the bulk of the water had run off the road, it was time to continue.  I just sat there shivering, pulling my knees to my chest.  “I can’t do this.”  Quick, quick, I needed to think of a good film clip to remedy the situation.  Ahhh! Matthew McConaughey’s voice doing the part of the XO in the film U-571, “You’re going to get up. You’re going to get up on that bike and you’re going to do your duty!”  It was just the motivation I needed, I was moving along.  Maybe throw in a bit of Full Metal Jacket for good measure: “Now show me your war face!” – “Growwwwwwl!!!”  I was moving, but it was no less painful.  I promised myself a coffee break once I reached Wasserburg.

Wasserburg am Inn, another gem of a town to enjoy on my journey.  I crossed the bridge and passed under the ancient city gate; I found a café right away.  The moment called for a cappuccino to regain my strength.  Back on the road I was again in good form.  I had completed so little so deep in the morning from the rain and cold.  I decided to resort to a fast-track pace to make up for lost time, skipping lunch and consuming power bars; I had brought so many with me and hadn’t yet eaten one on the tour.  The course of the Inn slowly began to bend eastward, which in turn brought the wind into my favor.  The skies were so depressingly dark, yet not the clouds that threaten rain.  I felt good to be knocking out miles around 20 per hour (32kps), despite the cold air.