Just Keep Pedalling

Why?

So many people have asked me that before, during, and after long distance rides that the responses become almost automatic: why not? because it’s there; to see if I can. I realised when pondering what to mention in summing up this particular tour that it’s perhaps the first ride where that question has an actual, specific answer. Or two answers really: because I’ve visited Munich twice by bike and experienced almost none of it; and because I could combine that with visiting buddies Christopher and Benjamin. So yeah, an actual purpose for a ride. What a novelty. Something else I realised when putting my thoughts together for this parting piece was another very different aspect to other rides. It was actually Type 1 fun. Without the pressure of event cutoffs, and with a slower than usual pace, I was enjoying it in the moment.

Memmingen to Munich

I realised while writing that I started to consider this as the “last day” of the tour, rather than the “last full day”. A minor semantic difference, but one which does sum up how it felt. The previous days were a steady routine, pack down; travel from hotel to hotel; laundry and prep at the end of the day to get ready for the next. But this day would be missing that latter part. Whatever time I arrived, I could just dump everything and relax. The riding would be done. No more “keep everything tidy and organized“. Like I said, subtle, but different.

The receptionist last evening had offered an “early breakfast” option – although I forget now if that was 6:30 or 7:00. But whatever time was agreed, the lobby door back into the hotel was locked when I got down there. The early shift manager was running late – and when she arrived 5 or 10 minutes later looked flustered and worried. She hurriedly opened up, and set up tables for what was now a small group of guests. Honestly, I wasn’t remotely bothered about the slightly later opening, but I got why she was worried. As she rushed around, still in jeans and T shirt, I hoped none of the early starters would make any complaints about her late arrival or not yet being in staff uniform.

Lake Constance to Memmingen

There was no getting away from the sense that the tour was coming to an end. Sure, almost half of today’s distance would be around the lake. But once I left its shoreline it was a straight, if somewhat lumpy, run across Germany towards Munich with 1 overnight stop to break up the distance. Another sign the destination was now close was how frequently I was messaging with Christoper and Benjamin on arrival times and plans beyond. Plus one more tip from Benjamin on a regional speciality to try tonight in the town I would be staying in: käspatzn. This part is always a messy jumble of feelings: happiness that a tour so long in the planning had worked out so well; sadness that a tour so long in the planning was almost over. At least I had a few days in Munich to slow down the decompression a little. First though, with absolutely no rush now, a proper hotel breakfast.

Wehra to Lake Constance

Clean, comfortable, quiet and with a never ending breakfast buffet – pretty much the headline items you’d want in a business hotel, and also coincidentally exactly what I needed. Better still, the door from the breakfast area out to the “not quite finished” bike storage area was unlocked, so I could rig my bike and leave it in view of my table whilst went on a few laps of the assorted goodies. Eventually, I had to admit there wasn’t even room for one more coffee, and so headed outside and wound my way back to towards the small industrial estate again (remembering only at the last minute to ride past reception and hop off quickly to to drop my key).

Altenheim to Wehra

Sure enough, the owner’s dad had opened up the garage and I was kitted up and rolling out quickly. Although I’d barely even got pedalling before I saw the supermarket on my left, and swung around into the car park. Leaving a bike propped outside while you grab suppliers is always a little nervy, but in this case it was quiet – there was almost no one around. Plus I could pretty much see the bike for most of the time I was shopping. Which wasn’t long. NC4K insincts kicked in and I knew exactly what I was shopping for. Minutes later I was sat outside tucking into what I hoped would be the last “home-made” breakfast of the tour. The idea of the shorter days was to enjoy proper breakfasts, but when circumstances change, you adapt.

Lunéville to Altenheim

Memory is a funny thing. Writing this blog a few months later, I don’t have a lot of recollection of the events of that morning (although it must have been the usual routine anyway). But I do still remember a lurid dream which I was still in the middle of when the watch alarm pulled me out of my sleep. I was involved in some James Bond-esque chase high up on the yellow crane arms of the trash loading warehouse. Given I have no head for heights, it was something of a relief to be woken from it TBH.

Saint-Dizier to Lunéville

The first properly early alarm call of the tour, although when it buzzed me into life at 04:15 it really didn’t feel that bad. There may have been some lingering physiological problems, but lack of sleep wasn’t one of them. Instinctively, my long distance event routine kicked in – alternating between stuffing bags, stuffing down food, and gearing up. Never just one thing at a time – that’s wasteful when you need to get going. Which I did – partly because I knew I had to take a super easy pace today, and also because there was no let-up in the forecast. Warm, hot, then hotter. A few hours of cool was the best I could hope for, and that meant mounting up early.

Meltdown

In order to explain Day 6 I need to start at the end of Day 5, on that walk back from dinner at the brasserie. As I crossed the road by the roundabout and trudged back up the hill to the B&B I knew something was wrong. My body felt out of whack, but not in a way I could immediately identify. Initially, it was more of a vague notion of being overly fatigued for my level of exertion and also a sensation of gliding along in something of a mental fog. Something was rotten in the state of Denmark (to paraphrase the bard).

Verneuil-sur-Seine to Château-Thierry

Everything I touched seemed loud. The espresso machine ground and grumbled away, the bowls clanked, the fridge door shouted out as if I’d slammed it shut with far my force than I had. As much as I tried to tiptoe around quietly to avoid waking the other guests, every move I made seemed to echo around the breakfast alcove and permeate up to the rooms above in amplified form. In the end, I gave up trying, finished gathering provisions and head for the table outside to eat in the peaceful still of the morning. Handily, this was also right alongside where my park was parked so I could kit up between mouthfuls of food and coffee. The weather and route check were a mixed bag – following canals meant a day of little in the way of climbing, but it would be hotter than anything those so far.

Cormeilles to Verneuil-sur-Seine

I forget whether it had rained in the night or if there was just a heavy dew, but everything was damp outside as I emerged. I’d taken my laundry in the night before, so it was no more than a slightly wet saddle to contend with and there was breakfast first during which it’d probably dry – especially as it stood in the sun somewhat as I wheeled back around to the garden where the entrance to the main house and breakfast room were. A man I took to be the owner, somewhat older than me, offered juice, coffee, a selection of pastries, and some cheese to go with the fresh hunks of baguette. Simple, standard fare but perfect to start me off for first couple of hours riding of the day. His English was patchy but better than my French – and between those we managed some pleasantries and a description of my destination for the day: Paris, or at least the suburbs just this side of the city itself. He bade me “bon courage” as I slurped down the last of my coffee and kitted up to roll out. I really hoped the new sunscreen worked and give my face a chance to heal slowly.