Kirchberg – 795km completed
As the coffee bubbled through the filter I glanced through the kitchen window. It confirmed the forecast on my phone – the rain had cleared overnight, but outside lay a grey, damp morning that suggested more rain was likely. Most of the washing from last night was reasonably dry but the socks and chamois of the shorts were still damp. I stuck them in a bag to dry more the next evening, and donned fresh kit despite the likelihood of further soaking. The outlook for later in the day and beyond was mostly dry and warm, so the chance of getting my laundry properly dry seemed good. For now, my lovely fresh smelling socks even got their own highlight photo. Whilst pottering with this I downed the hot & wonderfully strong black coffee. For proper starter fuel, I ate a bar and the banana which had ridden in my pocket most of the day before. I forget now if it was from the first deli stop, or the breakfast bar at the previous hotel. I have a vague memory it was the deli stop. The garage was unlocked as promised, and I did my best to rig up and roll out with the minimum of noise.
At least backtracking into the town the route was now all downhill, although the last section of still-wet cobbled streets required some attention. I zigzagged left and right at the junction across the main street and was preparing to wind up my pace for the ramp out of town when I realised the Netto I was passing had 2 or 3 rigs outside which clearly belonged to other NCK4 riders. And the entrance was lit up as if open – even though it was much earlier than the advertised time on the giant blue, yellow and red sign outside. I wheeled across to take a look and was not disappointed. The lady running the cafe had opened up early for the Indian riders, who were sat enjoying breakfast. I grabbed coffee and some form of pastry. The lady said sorry for the lack of fresh croissants as she served me – to which I replied that I was extremely grateful for her being open and no apologies were needed. Swapping stories from our respective journeys, the Indian riders said they were also very happy to find the cafe open having been on the road since 3am. Only now does the apparent inconsistency here strike me. Either I must have mis-remembered passing them on the final big climb, or they must have suffered a mechanical or something which slowed their journey to here by such a large margin. They rolled out maybe 10 or 15 minutes before I also departed.
There was a short climb out of town, followed by a fast descent into Wiesenburg and the interesting looking railway-carriage hotel I had been hoping to say at but which was full. Given the strength of the overnight storm, and the handy Netto stop I realised this had been a blessing. I’d have had a longer ride in the rain and missed out on the early breakfast. A longer climb of perhaps 200m followed which once crested revealed a more gradual rise to a crossing ahead which I knew marked a couple of milestones. Firsly, the views of a more distant, opening landscape confirmed that this really was the end of the hillier terrain of the past two days. The second milestone was road signs indicating that I would soon pass nearby Chemnitz, where the route would cross my track from TCRNo8 in 2022. I didn’t recognize the exact point, but the urban landscape seemed very familiar. I passed a number of old industrial and mining relics, the latter including a museum to this part of Germany (and latterly East Germany’s) industrial past. Combined with the rail path sections I rode along, there was a distinct similarity to the Chepstow 200km Audax Simon and I took part in at the start of June (that ride also passed a coal mining museum in the town of Radstock). The only difference was the weather, which at this point was dishing out a further soaking as it alternated between light showers and heavier downpours.
Passing through the town of Limbach-Oberfrohna, I initially dismissed another Netto café. But realising I was hungry for a more substantial breakfast, and craving another coffee I turned around and headed through the car park to stoke up. The rains seemed to have passed so in between bites of baguette and swigs of coffee I peeled off my full wet weather gear, keeping a base layer though since the day wasn’t fully warm yet. Whilst stopped I checked in quickly with Yoli, and washed down multi-vitamin and curcumin tablets with a vitamin enhanced fruit juice. Back to back strenuous days put a ton of strain on your immune system, so it felt like a decent idea to keep the vitamins topped up – plus of course I was surviving on a roadside diet that didn’t always include a lot of veg and fruit (aside from bananas, and occasional lettuce leaves and tomato slices in a baguette).
Several times on the riding after this the road dipped down into a valley which, based on the terrain of the last few days, felt like I would need to climb up the other side of. But we were on the downhill run now, and those climbs never came. Each time, in the valley, there seemed to be a turn back towards a river or stream and yet more descending through some village or other. Only once, after crossing the nearby river (the Zwickauer Mulde) did the road pitch upwards to any significant degree. A sharp dogleg in the road matched the curve of the river forcing me down into crawler gears as I slogged up through the town streets of Wechselburg. It was a pretty old town looking out from its perch above the river, but having already just eaten I had no reason to pull over and stop for anything. Once over the crest of the hill I spied an impressive riverside castle which I assumed (and thought looked like) Colditz which I knew we would go right past. The illusion and error continued all the way into the town of Rochlitz where I stopped on the footbridge over the river to take a photo which I shared with words to further amplify the embarrassment at my confusing the two. There’s only a couple of explanations I can offer to excuse the blunder. The first was the board game “Escape from Colditz” – which I swear looked more like Schloss Rochlitz than the real castle waiting for me a few km further along. The other was something which is quite usual on this type of event, but also a little odd, which I’m going to call “Exact Location Confusion“. This is a strange phenomenon that arises when following a little purple line that shows you exactly where to go but removes the need for you to actually know where you are. To be fair, I’d realised my mistake before reaching the real town of Colditz due to a couple of factors. My mind wandered in thought as I rode through the riverside lanes and paths and it occurred to me the castle had seemed very small. Plus how on earth would anyone decide launching a glider from a castle roof in a low river valley was a good way of sneaking out.
One “highlight”, if it could be called such, of the 10km to the real town and castle was a somewhat sketchy bridge back across the river. The path was enclosed in a wooden and steel cradle and slung alongside a rail bridge. Planks and joints rattled as I ducked around and down the entry to the bridge and bumped my way gingerly across the dark flowing waters below. I guess it was a fun distraction, but it didn’t feel entirely solid and it was a relief to come up and out the other side – heart rate now elevated fully for the riding ahead.
Busy town centres just don’t work for me on a bike tour – something I’m sure I’ve said a few times across blog entries and will probably repeat again on this one. Aside from preferring nature to crowds, there’s also the risk of something important getting nicked or damaged on the rig, and the likelihood of slow service waiting for food. As a result, the bustling cobbled main square of Colditz town immediately stifled my hopes of stopping for lunch here. A small army of tourists wandered around the streets, distracted by their selfie sticks and trying to strike the perfect pose rather than paying any attenion to cars or cyclists. Even had I been tempted to stop, there were no obvious open tables at the cafes around the square. I rode on through, pausing to snap a very poor shot of the real Colditz castle just for memory’s sake, before leaving the town behind.
I was sure I’d find a small bakery or cafe in a village further on. But as I made my way across a large expanse of mostly flat farmland, occasionally interspersed with stretches of woodland, a worrying pattern emerged. The villages were small, many with no shops at all, and those few there were either closed or not the edible kind of supplies. A couple of times my hopes rose at what appeared from a distance to be a small mall, but on reaching it turned out to be a distribution depot, agricultural goods, or some other industrial unit. On the run in to yet another village, I spied a fuel station sign off route right. After half a kilometre or so of following the trail all I succeeded in finding was yet another rain storm – this time, an extreme cloudburst that drenched me before I could even zip up my jacket. Soggily, I pedalled my way back to the route and through the village, which was deserted apart from a fellow rider of around my age who’d managed to make it to the bus shelter before the clouds burst. We’d already exchanged hellos a couple of times as we criss crossed during the day, so on this occasion just commented on the weather before I rolled on. The worst of the rain had already passed – leaving blue skies once more which began to dry me almost as quickly as I’d become soaked.
I forget how many other villages I passed but eventually I spied something through the trees which gave me hope. Off to the right hand side was a lakeside camp site and water park. Whilst generally for residents, a lot of these have a cafe which will serve visitors. I sploshed my way through the puddles in the car park looking for an entrance, and tailgated a couple of campers in swimsuits to get through the card key access gate to what was obviously the main clubhouse. No one seemed to notice or care about by my entry method and the small kiosk selling drinks, ice creams, and pool toys looked more interested in having a customer than worrying about the fact he was clad head to toe in cycling gear on a poolside veranda. I ordered the largest hot dog and portion of fries they had, several sodas – and some Haribo for the road. I was on the verge of adding ice cream as well, but decided that might be overkill. Based on the last section I knew the chance of anything down the road was slim, but the sweets would do in their place. I stripped down to just shorts and jersey as I ate, and sat in the sun drying out fully. The clouds were gone and the afternoon was warm. The lake beyond the pools was busy with kids jumping from the pontoons and splashing around – it was a pretty idyllic summer scene overall. My main focus was on accomodation though – and with limited options available in the larger town of Juterborg, my focus once more shifted to AirBnB. The town beyond would push my daily distance above budget, but there was an ideal looking apartment and the riding to this point had been flat and fast. I figured even with a dinner stop I’d be there well before dark, and the extra kilos would put me nicely in striking distance of Gate 2 and Berlin the next morning. Pushing on to the city today was my backup plan, as the suburbs began only an hour or so beyond the place I’d found. But 220km felt like a decent target for the day, so I put in my booking request and got a confirmation message back from the owners before heading out again.
Fuelled up once more, and with a still distant destination for the night, I took full advantage of the flatter riding. My pace picked up as I spent longer and longer sections tucked forward on the tri bars. The heat of the day was mitigated nicely by the woods and forests, which began to outnumber the farmland sections. A vague recollection came to me of the one time I’d flown into Berlin airport of large areas of forest surrounding the city – and wondered if they stretched out this far. In one random village I pulled over where a fellow cyclist was stopped to check all was OK. It was – he was just taking a break. We chatted about the lack of obvious resupply points across this day – which was reassuring in a sense. I hadn’t ridden past anywhere obvious at least. I think he’d already found accomodation in Juterborg, or was busy searching. I’d already forgotten the name of where I’d booked. It was on route anyway so, as per Exact Location Confusion, there was no real need to remember the name until I got there. And the GPS distance would tell me that. So I just described it as the “town beyond” if he needed to look further – since it had a hotel and other AirBnBs. And with that I sped on, keen for an early dinner, and a bed.
The remaining part of the day is a blur – kilometer after kilometer of trees and pedalling. Some mixing on the road with fast moving traffic. Some on forest trails. One later piece I remember vividly just because it was fun. A cycle path along a field, separate by a large hedge from the road. It swooped down into a huge hollow, and then rose back up the other side into a village. The rush of speed into the dip put a big smile on my face, but I could feel some tightness in my legs at the charge up the other side. Where the gravel path took a dogleg into the village I backed off. Closing in on my destination now, the need for speed was past. In truth, I’d probably overdone the pace a little, but fortunately nothing felt seriously over worked. Another part I remember well was the emerging from woodland to a beautifully scenic view of the town of Schweinitz across the small river beyond. It was enough to make me pause for a photo to capture the moment.
The busy cafe across the river was tempting as a stop, but I was still too far from my destination and pushed on towards Juterbog, which seemed to offer a decent selection of restaurants. Yoli often tells me I’m a “manifestor” – a term I don’t fully understand, but on this particular evening, I guess whatever that entails have been in full flow. I swung into yet another cobbled main street and past a perfectly decent looking pub cum grill. But my taste buds were fancying something spicy – maybe Thai. Literally 200 meters further along, on the left hand side was an Asian restaurant with an array of Vietnamese and Thai dishes on the menu outside. The solitary long table in the street had three guys at it dressed in lumi workmen’s outfits, their helmets laying on the table. I guess in some weird way, we looked a tad similar – although their heavy boots definitely wouldn’t have worked well on a bike. I asked if they minded me sitting at the other end of the large table, and dropped my own lumi gear and helmet in a pile when they indicated this was OK.
I have a vague memory that the dish which arrived was described as “Saigon Chicken”. Whatever it’s name, it was delicious. Just the right side of fiery hot with plenty of juicy sauce, a large mound of steaming rice and a nice selection of still crunchy stir fried veg. It was gone in no time. The guys at the opposite end were deep in conversation around something I didn’t even try to follow with my limited German. Aside from our initial converation, we didn’t exchange any further words. I was in no hurry though. Sat in the peaceful old town street, on a gloriously warm summer evening, my belly now full, my mood could not have been better. I exchanged messages with the B&B owners to let them know I was 20km away eating dinner, also giving them a rough ETA. I chatted with Yoli on the phone. The only unsuccessful part of the visit was my attempt to snag one of the bananas in the bowl on the counter as I paid up before leaving. They were strictly for the food the owner cautioned me, which I respected (somewhat reluctantly) and left.
Winding through the middle of the town, I sort of recall dodging a throaty sounding boy racer car full of young lads. I had a worrying, but probably false feeling they were following me eyeing my bike, or perhaps me, as a potential source of funds to add extra paraphernalia to their already over adorned chariot. I don’t often get nervous riding along, but for some reason these guys felt like trouble. And I was glad when finally, along some cycle path or other I lost them on a part where they could not follow. It was all probably in my head, but it was a relief to hit open countryside beyond the town and be able to speed along forest trails once more, with only the usual dog walkers or other cyclists for company. The route took a huge right angle detour rather than heading straight for the next town – I guess it might have been annoying on another day. But I was in no hurry, and the reason seemed to be to keep us on lovely dense forest trails. So I just enjoyed the sights, sounds and smells of the woods – the perfect accompanyment to the effortless riding. The kilometres fell away quickly and in no time I was entering the outskirts of Luckenwalde (a name I still forget almost as soon as I remember it).
With a bit of effort, and a couple of wrong turns, Google Maps eventually led me to the neighbourhood of the B&B. Most of the buildings were single story, and the street surfaces a little rough and broken in places. But the houses and cars looked well kept, and it felt like a quiet and safe area. The GPS lost it’s bearing literally on the street corner of the property, and I dithered up and down the road before realising the B&B was off the side street rather than the road I was on. I buzzed at the new looking side gate and the smiling owners showed me into the neatly laid out yard. They showed me an area under the outside patio roof I could leave my bike and assured me there was no need to lock it. I took them at their word, unloaded and headed inside. The apartment annex was immaculate – it looked brand new. With great pride they showed me how every appliance and switch worked, and warned me of any quirks in the kitchen equipment. It felt like I was the first guess since an extensive rennovation and, with their words in my ears, I took great care of everything inside. Although I didn’t have the heart to explain that it would probably only be the coffee machine and shower I actually used. Their English was about as limited as my German, so mostly we just smiled and nodded at each other once the instructions were done. I did manage to explain the time I’d be leaving, which prompted them to explain how the gate worked and where I should leave the key.
Alone, eventually, I filled the sink with laundry, spread out the gear I needed and hung up the still slightly damp shorts from yesterday’s laundry for the next day. In the warmth of the evening I had no doubt they would dry fully overnight, so didn’t bother with the tumble dryer, even though I now knew exactly how it worked and what settings to use. As clean and careful as I was, the table and sofa looked ike a bombsite with my gear strewn all over. But there’d be no trace of that tomorrow. I figured how the curtains and shutters worked and sleep came almost immediately my head hit the pillow. Five days on the road, and well on schedule – even a little ahead thanks to today’s easy riding.