Innsbruck – 218km completed
First morning on the road which inevitably meant my routine wasn’t honed yet – plus the apartment had tea and coffee, ensuring a degree of faffing took place as I showered and loaded the bags up. But eventually I staggered back down the tricky curve of stairs, dropped the card key in the box, avoided the lethal step back up to the door and rolled out onto a bright but chilly street. Aside from the occasional dog walker the roads back to where I’d left the main route were almost deserted. Technically, I could have taken a more direct route to the only café my desk checking of the map had suggested would be open so early on a Sunday. But under strict event rules, if you leave the route for any reason other than traffic or diversions, you rejoin it at the point you left. On the way, I passed two more of the five riders from India who I’d briefly met on the cycle path yesterday before they sped off ahead of me. We exchanged hellos before heading off on completely different streets. I guess they were making for somewhere different, or maybe just cracking on with their ride.
Streets of cobbles and tram tracks ended with traffic lights at a large road junction, which once over the other side became the riverside cycle path that would make up the first 20km or so of the morning. But not before I’d swung off left to find Café Reitz which was, as I’d hoped, open and serving coffee and food. Sat outside on the small balcony, bike propped alongside, I’d barely had time to have my first sip of coffee and bite a chunk out of the bacon and cheese pastry before I heard familiar voices. Christopher, Benjamin, and Justin had homed in on the same option for breakfast, and gathered up another a Swiss rider, Alexis, on their travels. After some re-arranging of tables, we sat chatting over the day before and the looming challenge ahead – the hefty climb up and over to Mittenwald. At 10km long with an average gradient of 7%, or maybe it was 7km at 10%. Either way I knew I would be mostly pushing . But that was fine – after yesterday’s efforts I had nothing left to prove to myself on the climbing front. I’d got up and over the first pass with barely a trudge, but also then suffered the result of pushing too hard. So today was going to be an exercise in conservation. However far up I managed to ride up today’s pass, and whatever bits I had to walk would be fine. I’d lose no more than an hour or so, which over the next 20 days would likely become insignificant. And my target for the day was somewhere around Munich or just beyond, which in theory was a fairly modest 160 to 170km overall for the day. Doable even with a bit of hike a bike. But none of that was going to happen before a 2nd cup of coffee and a bit more banter with my fellow riders. The days ahead were likely to become very solitary, so this rare moment of companionship was not going to be squandered.
The five of us rattled down the city streets together and rejoined the riverside path – occasionally stretching out to let other morning cyclists or runners past, but mostly riding together as a two up bunch with an extra middle or tail rider. We sped along in the still, pure blue morning. After a few minutes riding we came upon a junction with a road which Christopher suggested may be the detour around a section of closed path which had been shared on the event chat group. But collectively we decided it felt like we weren’t yet alongside the airport. Sure enough though, a handful of kilometres further on Christopher’s instinct was proved correct. A path blocked the fence, and a nastily busy road heading the wrong way and with no cycle lane was our only other option. Peering past the fence the path looked rideable as far as we could see, plus we all had some level of gravel tyres – so we squeezed through the narrow gap around the fence. “How hard could it be?” seemed the general consensus. Unusually, not in the slightest bit hard was the answer. The surface never degraded beyond light gravel at worst, and the only further obstructions were to side paths joining ours. We sped on, past the closed section, and out across the narrow strip of meadows between the Inn river and the mountains flanking the valley. Once again, I knew the pace was more than I could sustain, so let the guys know I was dropping back. But not before a brief chat with Benjamin and Christopher on the subject of “long distance cyclists knees“. Benjamin had been suffering significant pain the night before, which I re-assured both him and Christopher was completely normal and not likely to become ride ending if they paced well. The body takes a heavy toll riding far, and trying to stay hydrated on such long hot days. The resulting combination of exertion and fluid build up seems to concentrate itself in the knee caps resulting in excruciating pain the moment you lie down at night. But it passes each night, and after a few days usually stops completely. You just have to realise it’s normal and keep going through it – which was the parting thought I shared with the guys before the distance between us lengthened once more, and I donned my headphones and fired up the soundtrack for this ridiculously beautiful morning.
The route crossed the river a couple of times – both of which I remembered from studying at my desk. After the first bridge, it turned right into the car park of a motorway service station, with a café which had been my backup plan if the Innsbruck stop had been a bust. Not needing it now, I continued past and back onto the riverside path. The second crossing was just a short detour through a small town, with a couple more potential food stops I’d marked but also didn’t need. After these was just one more crossing, which I was dreading as much as looking forward too. Because of what lay beyond. There was a short section of narrow track across a field at which I paused for oncoming cars with a couple of fellow riders, after which the route turned right, back under the road and then out onto a roundabout that was literally the last flat section before the monstrous climb over the pass into Germany. Justin was rolling out of the gas station across from the roundabout and passed comment about getting some energy drink on board before the climb. It sounded an excellent idea, so I swerved across to do the same. Although I suspect a part of me was also just looking to forestall the inevitable for a few more minutes. I drank a few swigs of Energade (or something similar), jammed the rest of the bottle in my back pocket, scoffed down a snack bar of some form and headed out myself. My fuel stops were beginning to reach a workable level of efficiency.
Two things struck me immediately upon leaving the garage forecourt. The first of these was the gradient, although it began gradually, with every pedal stroke I could feel it slowly steepening. I knew a lot worse was to come. The second was the heat. Now away from the breeze along the river the cool morning air was gone. Just in time for the main exertion of the day, an oppressive humid cauldron was slowly bubbling up to full steam. A final steep ramp pitched directly upwards between the last houses of the town before bending to the left and then switching back right onto the main road of the pass itself. A couple of other riders had commented I was going well on this section, to which I replied along the lines that my form would not last long. It didn’t. The opening ramp was fierce – without a scrap of shade, the gradient and the heat soon drained my desire to repeat yesterday’s heroics and attempt to climb the whole pass. A part of me would, of course, have loved too – and on any other day I’d have given it a crack. But I knew the hour it saved would exact a much heavier price in my ability to survive (and just as importantly enjoy) the rest of the today and the days to come. Common sense took over and I hopped off at a small layby and began the long, hot slog pushing the rest of the way to the top. I was not alone. Up ahead, I saw the speed of riders who had surged past me slowly grind to a snail’s pace, before they also dismounted and started to walk. Not everyone of course, at least as many if not more rode on strongly. I wondered how many of those who didn’t had expected and planned for this though. As painfully slow as the progress was, my spirits were high because I was still very much working my expected plan. It would have been a lot more disheartening to have not factored in this long stretch of hiking.
The pass was a handful of long, straight, steep sections with just a few hairpin turns. The first of these offered a small scrap of shade from trees on the mountainside above. Perhaps 5 or 6 of us stood there pausing briefly from the climb – in my case mostly just to be out of the sun for a moment, and to take some bites of the baguette I’d bought for the road at Café Reitz. It wasn’t going to survive long in the heat so it was better to eat it than just have it turn into an unpalatable soggy mess in my pocket. Two or maybe three of the riders from Indian rode on bravely up the next section for a way, but by the time I had started off again at least one of them was also off and pushing. As well as managing my effort level, the choice to walk did also lesson one other factor. The pass was just a normal width road, but a steady succession of cars, mostly with Austrian plates, clearly thought it was a race track. They pass terrifyingly close to the stream of riders and took crazy risks speeding into the path of descending traffic, also travelling scarily fast. By walking close in on the gutter, there was much less of me and bike in the actual road. Wobbling up at 10kmh, or less, I’d have endured a constant bombardment of uncomfortably close passes. Although the trudge did take the hour or more extra I’d envisioned, I had no doubt it was preferable to burning all my matches dicing with a bunch of wannabee street racers.
The final switchback was obvious both from the elevation, which offered magnificent views, and the signs to a mountain refuge and restaurant which I’d contemplated for a possible lunch stop. But thanks to the baguette I wasn’t hungry enough yet for food, so instead just pulled over for a shot of the impressive expanse of the Inn Valley below, and a few words with the other riders stopped doing the same. As well as the Indian riders there was one of two riders from the Philippines who I’d cross paths with many times in the days ahead. Photos done, I mounted back up and pedalled up the last much easier gradient as the road swung right across a flat open expanse at the top of the pass before beginning it’s steady descent down towards the border with Germany below.
I was enjoying the fast, freewheeling run a little too much and missed the left turn off across the meadows at the bottom of the first drop out of the mountains. Simultaneously cursing and laughing at myself, I pedalled back up to rejoin the correct route. Shortly after this, the route dropped down again briefly before flattening across yet more bright green meadows and into a small town. A large group of other participants, maybe twenty or thirty in number were gathered around a water trough filling bottles and splashing themselves to cool off. I joined them to top up, finishing off the last small scrap of slowly melting sandwich whilst waiting my turn at fresh, cool stream of clear mountain water burbling out of the mouth of the fountain. I didn’t hang around long though – I was beginning to crave some real food. As I sailed down through each village, I dithered a lot – none of what I saw felt like the “ideal” stop: too busy; not busy enough; off route. My brain was still being way too picky, and eventually I resolved to just stop at the next place I saw rather than keep going past location after location finding some small fault with it. As it turned out, the next place was actually the ideal stop anyway – just off the road, a large restaurant and hotel, with ample places to prop my bike, and a stand of shady trees to escape from the heat.
Being a fairly traditional place, they had Schnitzel and Spätzle too – exactly what I was hankering for. Only after I had ordered food, plus a coke, and a Radler zero did I notice the sign saying “cash only“. Oops – maybe not quite so ideal. I quickly counted my money, and darted around the corner to find the waiter. He asked me how much I had – and seemed happy enough that my meagre handful of remaining EUR notes would cover it. There was even a couple of coins left for emergencies. The large helping of food was delicious – and felt like just the fuel needed for a large part of the remainder of the day. It wasn’t completely flat from here to Munich, but there as a lot more down than up. One section in particular I was looking forward too was a toll road along the Izar valley – the last “wild river” in Germany as Christopher had described it before going on to explain that meant no man-made channelling or other management of the river was performed. It was left to flow it’s natural course, and fallen trees or rocks were left were they landed. But that was still ahead. A few last stretches of Austria remained. And they proved every bit as scenic and delightful as the ride book had promised. Short punchy little climbs on rural roads up to and around farms, and swooping descents between fields of grazing cows and horses – all without traffic. If anything, the supposedly picturesque town of Mittenwald was the least enchanting part of this section. A bustling, touristy town felt out of place in the midst of all this calm alpine beauty. Although I suspect some of that impression came from my circumstances. I didn’t need anything that the shops or restaurants had to offer, and the heat radiating back off the tarmac and surrounding buildings made it feel like riding through a blast furnace. I hurried through, took the left turn off the main road, and began the gradual climb out of the valley on my left hand side.
Memory is now vague on how many ups and downs followed, or how many other small places I passed through but it wasn’t long before I came to an unmistakeable section. The route briefly joined a more major road, followed down the main street of the town I was passing through, before climbing briefly up to a right turn with a signpost of a soaring eagle which, along with the toll booth, marked the start of the natural park. This was the part I was looking forward too – a long stretch of nature and quiet roads. And it did not disappoint – the uphill sections were gradual, and the downhills flowing. All the while under the leafy bright green shade of the wooded hillside the road traversed. Several cyclists passed me, although almost all were just regular club riders also out enjoying the wonderful weekend. The hero though was the view. Christopher’s “wild river” description was 100% accurate. Through glimpses between the trees on my right hand side lay a vast river plain – multiple strands of milky blue glacial waters threading their way around large banks of gravel and small clumps of trees. It felt so unspoilt I imagined being in Canada rather than on the run down to a busy European city. I made a mental note that Yoli and I needed to come back and spend more time here in the kombi someday.
I was enjoying the riding and the views so much I completely forgot to stop for photos until I’d passed through the toll booth at the other end of the long drive and already crossed the narrow bridge over the river. I did stop and go back to snap a couple from the bridge but they’re not even close to capturing the wild beauty of that stretch. Turning left after the bridge we were back on a more major road, complete with uncomfortable fast moving traffic – although thankfully not many close passes. I pulled into a café part way along which I’d waymarked for a stop. But it was mobbed and after 5 or 10 minutes with no signs of service at my table or the others around me I decided the wait wasn’t worth it just for a drink and snack and left. Barely any distance beyond the road crossed a bridge between sections of the vast dam at the foot of the valley. This was a section of the route I had studied in depth because of an oddity which I was approaching just up ahead and which had confused me initially. With limited Google Earth pictures for Germany it had taken some scouring around to figure out that the rock which the route disappeared into was a narrow tunnel for a mixed used path, leading to a tranquil tree lined forest trail beyond. Presumably at some stage this was an old railway or mining tunnel and not blasted just for walkers and cyclists.
We were on Christopher and Benjamin’s home turf here and they’d warned me of a steep section of boardwalk beyond which could be treacherous when wet. But on a blisteringly hot afternoon, it was a bone dry fast drop into the woodlands beyond. The forest trail section was relatively short, but when it came alongside main road again we were still on cycle paths and mostly away from the traffic, Up ahead I spotted a café and pulled in for cold drink and water. I’d intended to also have an ice cream but the chalkboard offering Apfelstrudel was way more tempting so that immediately got ordered – and possibly a Radler Zero, although I don’t fully recall now. Either way, I’d racked up a few Euros in bill by the time I spotted the “cash only” sign on the way back from the loo.
Bollocks!
I had exactly no remaining actual money now, aside from a 200 Czech Krona note leftover from TCR in 2022. After some bartering, the waitress rather accepted the note. I’d earmarked it for lunch on the brief section ahead where we would revisit Czechia, and I said I thought it was worth roughly the 11 EUR bill. I felt was sure it was more than that even but on a later google I realised my memory was way off – it was only worth about 8 EUR when I originally failed to spend it and it’s value now was still about 2 EUR short of the bill. Ah well, I consoled myself with the thought I had at least left something for my fare and rolled on with every intention of visiting a cash machine and checking more carefully before ordering.
At some point a little beyond we swung onto a bridge across the main road where a fellow NC4K rider was sat on her own. I recognised her from the start where she had appeared to be part of a group of 3 or 4 riders. So I assumed she was probably grabbing a snack whilst waiting for them. We swapped hellos as I rode by and headed out onto small farm lanes beyond which eventually led to a large, dark pine forest criss-crossed with a maze of paths that we threaded our way along. Although I nearly missed the turn into this section – the Wahoo pointed left but spotting the track ahead going right I initially ignored it. But at the right turn spot there was nothing. Only on closer inspection did I spot the small cycle path emerging from a tunnel below the road. I waited an age for the traffic to be quiet enough to U turn across the main road and back to the turn I’d bypassed that led down to the tunnel. It was at this point I realised the Garmin GPSMAP was not just for decoration and Yoli’s own, private, always accurate tracking. Loaded with the original GPX, it had the full authentic track not the turn-by-turn route I’d created from it. I zoomed the screen in, amped up the brightness and from then on used both devices in concert to find the correct route through unusual sections like this one.
The forest trails seemed to go on forever – I began to wonder if the lady on the eBike just ahead of me thought I was stalking her. At every junction where she turned, I followed soon after. At a big clearing we passed a local festival of some form. It was tempting to stop for food, but the afternoon was drawing on. I really wanted to get to Munich, take my selfie, eat properly and find a bed. And although it wasn’t far, I remembered from 2022 that there was still some riding to do, and not all of it was flat. Eventually, on the outskirts of Wolfratshausen the forest paths ended and we ran out across urban streets and paths through the town. I remember being alongside another NC4K ride and pointing out the hotel I’d stayed at on TCR No.8. Instead of taking what I knew was a steep hill out of the town though, we dropped onto an utterly delightful riverside cycle path. I couldn’t believe I’d missed this as a routing option 2 years back. It was lovely – and flat! Tucked down on the tri bars and flying along, I passed some other social riders on mountain bikers. Although this seemed to upset them as at least one of them picked up pace and passed me again soon after. I wasn’t intentionally racing them so I just held my easy, rhythmic pace as they pulled away in the distance.
A little ahead the path veered right up to a road, which then dropped down again onto a bridge across to the left bank of the river. I didn’t need to see the switchbacks on the Garmin to know there was a climb ahead. We had to get up and out of the river valley onto the main road above that led towards Munich. I also remembered these were short steep hillsides and so had fully prepared myself mentally for the possibility of walking. Once again though, the legs had more in them than I expected. My progress was slow, but with a bit of puffing I span up the gradient with no real stress. Somewhere not far beyond the rim of the valley side we rolled out onto the main road and I immediately pulled into a service station for a snack and some supplies. My stock of energy bars was running low, so those needed replenishing before tomorrow with an assortment of tasty looking local bars (including the Corny Big nut bars I’d loved from previous rides). I was also short of water and fancied a chocolate milk and snack to carry me the last few Km into Munich for proper food. I forget their names and nationalities, but at least 2 other riders stopped with the same idea whilst I was snacking, We swapped thoughts on the likelihood that the gathering clouds were going to give us a drenching before we got to the checkpoint (officially known as a “Gate” in NC4K parlance). The consensus seemed to be that we were heading away from the storm though, a view confirmed by a local stood filling their car at one of the pumps. It’s hard to remember all of the interactions after the ride, but at almost every stop a conversation would spring up with passers-by on who we were, where we were going etc. Those who knew of the event typically just congratulated us and wished us well. Those who didn’t often stood wide mouthed at our reply, gaping as if they’d just seen an alien – or a madman – or both.
It wasn’t far into Munich – but every part seemed further than I remembered. The newly built suburb with its clean, sharp lines of hi tech buildings, and modern bus terminus and station came up quickly but had grown larger than I recalled. The descent onto the river path again involved a lot more winding through suburbs than I could tally with my memory. At least one of those involving doubling back to a right turn I had missed onto a steep path off a high bridge across rail lines. And finally, the path across meadows beside the river was way longer than it had seemed before. It was filled with a familiar mix of people though – walkers with baby strollers, cyclists on city bikes, people sat picnicking, impromptu boom-box driven concerts, from which the same strong aroma of Ganja wafted across the path. Apart from the direction I was travelling, it felt as if I was stuck in a time loop and replaying the exact scene from 2 years back.
Eventually, the Wahoo beeped at me to take the ramp up onto one of the bridges. After negotiating traffic and a bustling pedestrianized section, I rolled under the arches of a building out into Marienplatz. Bingo! I’d made it to my first NC4K gate. Although a selfie would have to mark the spot as it was way past the Sunday closing time of the Tourist Office on the opposite side of the square. I savoured the view for a few moments whilst also considering food options. I’d passed a McDs on the way in, but it was way more crowded than ideal. I did not fancy leaving my rig for a prolonged period in such a busy area whilst queuing for food. The dark clouds which I’d first noticed at the petrol station had built into an angry looking storm front now. Dithering over food stops was not a smart idea so I opted to ride on, out of the busy area of the city centre, and pull into the first likely looking, reasonably quiet café.
The first spots of rain began to fall after barely any distance – but at least the street was quieter. I pulled over at some red awnings, and quickly checked with the guys inside they were serving food. The options weren’t extensive, but they had a decent looking cannelloni which would hit the spot nicely, plus a zero beer and a Sprite I could mix into a self-made Radler. I sat under one of the umbrellas initially, but the downpour became too much for the thin canvas and so moved inside. I was a little nervous to be out of sight of the rig, but the waiting staff promised to keep a close eye. Although I didn’t expect to be riding much longer, I yanked the extender battery out of my frame bag and gave the essential devices a quick top up charge. As the rain bucketed down outside I scrolled page after page of accommodation options. Everywhere I had waymarked was full – probably with other NC4K riders who had got here quicker than me. I was procrastinating between a fancy looking hotel just a couple of streets away and the now limited selection of hotels with vacancies in Freising some 40km further on. With the rain still hammering down and bursts of lightning now flashing across the sky the latter did not seem appealing. And then, as if by magic, a smart looking but not cazy price business hotel popped up on my umpteenth search refresh on booking.com. Barely 500m off route, and just 8km away I didn’t hang around getting it booked. One last order of business was required before heading for my newly acquired bed – a trip to the loo. I wouldn’t normally cover this in such detail, except for the further questions it raised about the placed I’d stopped for my perfectly adequate dinner. Upstairs, the decor became opulent to the extreme – gilded statues, deep red velvet curtains. A glowing sign nearby read “Casino”, but the vibe had a distinct feel of up market brothel. All of which wouldn’t be odd I guess if it was the first such establishment I’d stumbled into on a 4,000km bike ride looking for supplies. But it wasn’t – and on that previous occasion I was also trying to escape a severe thunder storm. Some weird kind of pattern was emerging.
Fully kitted up, lights lit, I hurried through the rain washed streets, sploshing through deep puddles as I crossed junction after junction of busy traffic. It was all cycle lane though, with separate crossing lights, so although not exactly rapid progress, it was safe and hassle free. The rain itself had paused for a while so most of the wet I was receiving was spray from my wheels and the traffic in the road alongside. The sky was prematurely dark due to storm, although vast forks of lightning crashed around and lit up the wet streets ahead. With a room secured there was no need to hurry except to try and escape the next downpour, which was clearly on it’s way. I knew staying dry the full 8km would be pushing it, making it doubly frustrating that the suburb of Garching was in sight across the roundabout when the heavens opended again. Under a torrent of water I rushed across and under the canopy of a filling station to get some short term relief whilst I checked the directions around the last few streets. Quickly juggling GPS units, I swapped the Garmin for my phone with Google Maps. If anything the storm looked likely to get worse rather than better, so with a deep breath, as if plunging underwater – I rode out and hurried into the maze of paths and housing streets to the right. It took just a few minutes to pull out onto the broad, newly built road that led to the hotel – but the rig and I were absolutely drenched by the time we did so. I hopped off and propped a very wet bike under the canopy at the entrance to the hotel. The soaking really didn’t matter though – I was within a handful of kilotmeters of my notional target for the day, and I was out of the storm. The only thing which could make the day better would be if I could convince them to allow the bike into my room. That seemed unlikely though – I wasn’t totally sure they’d even allow me into the room given the state of me.
The night manager was a young and extremely helpful chap, I felt bad at unleashing my most powerfully persuasive charm on him. But eventually, after multiple protests and the offer of a perfectly safe underground garage, I ground him down with promises of extreme care of the room and a glowing review to his bosses. He even escorted me to the door (athough probably to check I kept to my word), but he needn’t have worried. I did take the utmost care and not one mark was left other than the large splodges of water on the stone tiling, all of which fell from me not the bike. The room itself was superb – a large kitchenette with coffee and tea, a lounge opposite with couches and ample places to charge devices, and a comfy extensive bedroom with walk in wet room attached. The storm and the thunder pounded away outside whilst I unpacked, chatted with Yoli, and then fell almost immediately imto a deep sleep in the comfort of the room. Day 2 was another good result. All that was needed now was the storm to clear, and a proper coffee to be available downstairs before I rolled out.
