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globalsource-blog · 7 years

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Rotterdam -> Berlin, Part 3

Let’s get straight to the point here, I have taken a long time to serialize this road trip. While I’d like to imagine every one of you reading this has been waiting at the edge of your seat, anticipating the next update as eagerly as I waited for the hammocks I just got in the post, I also recognize I’ve kept people waiting a long time. If this post was a hammock, then if I were you I’d have made a complaint about the shipping time by now. Apologies. In compensation, here’s a great album of African percussion to listen to while you read this post:

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Hand-wringing out of the way, let’s do a quick recap. The characters in the story which we’re resuming are: yours truly, the fighting pride of Pateley Bridge Stan Sands, and Arthur “shall we just do it” Delamare. Our heroes are cycling about 850km from Hook of Holland to Berlin to raise money for Médecins sans Frontières (our JustGiving is still live, if you’re reading this and haven’t donated, the link is at the bottom of the post). They’ve made it through wind and rain on arrival, through the beautiful and pancake-flat fields of Holland, and having eaten a great many cookies and chocolate bars, made it across the border into Germany, land of straight roads, fast cars and logistical efficiency. Just the place for a trio of clueless Englishmen without a map to really show the superiority of ineptitude with flair over po-faced competence.

Would you trust this guy to get you to Berlin? Course you would.

Where we left off, we’d just crossed over into Germany and spent a moonlit night in a stunning little grove of trees just off the side of the road. With Holland behind us, we’d found our pace and were getting good and comfortable on the roads. It was time to knuckle down and kick on; with about 500km left to go, the only motivation we needed was the knowledge that the road was pretty much paved with Lidls and Aldis, and that every one of them was full of hot fresh pastries. What a way to live. Lidl’s that way mate.

The first morning in Germany turned out to be the biggest detour of the trip. We’d run out of ethanol fuel for the Trangia camp stove I’d been using to make our nightly two or three-course meals, and hoping to find some more we did a quick Google Maps search and set course for “Camping World” about 40km to the South-East (bearing in mind Berlin was pretty much dead east of us at this point, this was a bit out of our way, but there’s nothing like the idea of a hot meal to help you rationalise a bit of extra effort). Having spent a couple of hours on the road fantasizing about pasta, noodles and whatever other hot carbs we could think of, imagine our disappointment when we arrived at the destination to find a parking lot full of giant mobile homes. Turns out the German idea of camping is driving an enormous and ugly white bus with double beds and a flatscreen TV to a field full of other people doing the same. Illegal or not, I’d rather go wild camping and take my chances with the wild boar than participate in such ridiculous behaviour.

Anyway, we did eventually find a big green bottle of bio-fuel which turned out to do the trick (I played it cool while lighting the stove despite a slight worry it might explode). Once we’d had lunch and sorted out a flat tyre on Arthur’s bike, we ended up having a very pacey afternoon with the notable exception of doing a 5km circle (and nearly turning back onto it for a second lap) around a windmill construction site; Arthur convinced me and Stan we’d gone wrong and just afterwards we saw the same woman we’d seen ten minutes before, going back the way she’d come, proving his point for him. Despite the detour, we were going so quickly at this point it didn’t cause too much delay.

After covering a good 80km in the afternoon, we pitched up camp for the night in a beautiful spot outside the village of Bramsche, on the eastern shore of a small lake ringed by trees. A three course meal of garlic mushrooms, couscous stew and bread & brie, washed down with a few bottles of outrageously cheap and tasty Pilsner (the surest sign yet of being in Germany), along with a few slugs of some local liquor which Stan brought out with a cheeky smile, and we were ready to hit the sack.

The next morning we ate a crate of strawberries for breakfast, with another golden shot of firewater to get us fired up and ready to crunch down 50km to Minden. Legs pumping, we set out on probably the fastest morning of the trip so far. I remember feeling that the momentum was continually building. We’d all started riding in higher gears and were pushing on further and harder with each rotation. I don’t think either myself nor Arthur will ever forget the image of Stan Sands steaming past us both, in his fake Ray-Bans with his Lycra top unzipped, hips pumping like the pistons on a steam train. We kept up this pace with a continuous intake of sweets and biscuits which I kept in a Tupperware box inside the little red front pannier that spent the whole trip bouncing up and down on my handlebars, full of bike repair gear and snacks- all the necessaries for the upkeep of man and machine.

Having stopped mid-morning for pastries and a toilet break, we kept pounding the pedals until we arrived at Minden. Sweaty and a bit sore, we stopped for lunch in a pretty woodland park.

After a rest and a quick regression to childhood in the nearby playground (highlight being Arthur flying 100 miles an hour off a slide straight onto his arse), we got back on the road. Stan’s knee was giving him a lot of grief so we stumped up a few Euro for some Ibuprofen gel, which we all rubbed into our many and varied aches and pains. After eating a large pack of cookies we got ready to leave Minden behind, but this proved difficult... After following the signs to Stadthagen (the next town along our route), which at no point made mention of the roads not being suitable for bikes, we ended up in a state of confusion and terror on a busy dual carriageway and then turned left onto what turned out to be an on-ramp for the Autobahn. Needless to say, we weren’t interested in adding to the plentiful roadkill lining the sides of Germany’s roads, so we hopped over the roadside barrier and trekked the bikes down a steep hill and through a field to join a small country road, with a synchronised sigh of relief like a short-staffed barbershop quartet. Thankfully we’d all brought plenty of clean underwear.

Following this stressful episode, the afternoon played out like a montage from a film, as we cruised and laughed through farms and villages soaked in sepia tones by the April sunshine. To top it off, we ended the day in a forest carpeted with tiny white flowers, above the town of Bad Nenndorf. After a dinner of fried broccoli and lentil stew, we lay in our tents listening to an owl who cried defiance at the moon and stars, while the bushes nearby rustled with some local critters intrigued by the strange new shapes in their forest.

Waking up early the next morning to take down the tents for the sake of any morning dog-walkers, I whipped up some scrambled eggs (we’d bought a box of ten from a vending machine at the front gate of a farmhouse) with garlic and spring onions; you could tell the quality from the bright orange and yellow yolks. With a tasty breakfast inside us, we checked with Tourist Information for a cycle map, but the bookshop to which they sent us only had one to Wolfsburg (about 120km), at which rate we’d have to buy a new map almost every day. So, we sacked off the idea of a map once and for all, resolving that if three wise men on camels could make it to Bethlehem only using a star, then three clueless Brits using a compass and road signs could cycle to Berlin just fine.

Living up to our established incompetence we set out towards Hanover alongside the Mittellandkanal without any water, with the sun bearing down hot and heavy. However, providence smiled on us as we stopped to ask at the right house; a short and smiling woman named Elka, in work pants and a bandanna, provided us each an alcohol-free beer and gave us a selection of cereal bars left over from her recent trekking in Patagonia. Leaning on the huge pile of firewood she’d clearly spent several days chopping herself, she gave us some travel tips and asked about our journey so far. Given that generally speaking the Germans we’d met so far had been noticeably less friendly than the Dutch, Elka was a welcome exception and more than made up for the suspicious looks and surliness we’d received at other houses. After filling our bottles and directing us the best way through Hanover, she waved us off down the canal.

We stopped in Hanover to charge up two of our phones, so we’d be able to use Google Maps to prevent any more terrifying close calls with the Autobahn like we’d had in Minden. By this point we’d realised we much preferred the open road of the countryside to navigating the junctions, noise and and traffic of urban areas, but thanks to the magic of GPS our way out of Hanover was quick and easy. We spent the afternoon heads-down over our handlebars, pushing through 60km eastwards to Oetze. With arrival in Berlin quickly becoming a reality, we celebrated a good day’s ride with the first and only takeout food of the trip, a trio of generous falafel wraps at a friendly Turkish café where the boss whipped us up fresh chili sauce on request. Despite a hefty language barrier, I managed to make some conversation with the guys behind the counter and explain what we were up to, as well as getting permission to charge up our devices using the sockets around the café. We ended up sitting in a comfortable lounge area drinking bottles of Turkish lager while the boss and his friend played backgammon, enjoying our first time within four walls (besides 20 minutes in a supermarket) in a week.

As we paid the bill, our new friend gave us a generous discount and even the kind gift of a bottle of Martini, which he showed (through basic yet effective sign language) was to keep us warm in our tents. Feeling well-fed, a bit tipsy and very content, we set off on a short and slightly wobbly ride down the road to find a nice spot to camp for the night. However, Stan suddenly fell behind as it turned out he had a puncture, so we wheeled the bikes up to a scrubby set of trees between two roads, pitched up and went to sleep. Waking up with traffic passing within a couple of metres of us, we quickly packed the tents down and set off on our second-to-last day of riding.

We’d decided the previous night that we wanted to cross over the river Elbe before we stopped, which would mean a ride of 140km, but that if we managed it then we’d have an easy final day into Berlin. Knowing this, we’d bought enough snacks to incapacitate John Prescott, and we set off at a roaring pace, blazing through Gifhorn (probably the strangest place name we encountered after Nutter in Holland) and arriving in the industrial city of Wolfsburg by midday. Given the bleak appearance of the city and our need for speed, we decided to keep going until we found somewhere a bit more scenic where getting lunch would be less hassle. We stopped for orange juice and coffee in a village called Rühen, then bought ingredients for lunch at, you guessed it, a Lidl.

Google Maps suggested we follow the ever-present Mittellandkanal once again, so we quickly cooked up lunch on the northern bank and continued on our way. However, we ran into difficulty when the bike path which Google insisted we follow for another 5km simply ceased to exist. We came face to face with a steep grassy bank covered in fallen trees with no path to follow, and decided we’d try to rejoin it after cutting cross-country to the left and then back. We followed a small waterway which led up to the left just before the path stopped, and as we went the noises of the wildlife all around us became ever louder. Frogs, birds and insects all seemed to be within a few feet of us. Suddenly, we all looked instinctively to the opposite bank of the side-channel we were walking down, as something brown shot from the bank into the water with a heavy splash. Beaver? Otter? Boar? Whatever it was, it swam around under the water watching us for a while.

As we came to the end of the waterway, it quickly became apparent we were walking into an honest-to-God swamp. The ground was getting increasingly muddy and then just straight up wet, and we tried a couple of different directions before deciding to follow what looked like an SUV track. Eventually we came to be walking the bikes single file along a marshy stripe of grass with murky water on both sides, rising as we went further in. As it started to look more and more like the scene out Snow White where she gets lost in the forest, we made an executive decision to sack it off for a bad job and went back to the canal. However, we didn’t consider this a setback. Any lesser team would have turned back long before, but I personally look back with pride at the optimistic (if clueless) determination that got us forty minutes into the sunken trees and moss before giving up. Boys, if you’re reading this, there’s nobody I’d rather get lost in a swamp with.

Anyway, we went back the way we came for a while, crossed the canal just outside Rühen and made a loop around for about an hour before rejoining our route about 20km down the line. Turns out cycling is quicker than walking a bike through marshland! We got onto highway 188 and smashed through kilometre after kilometre, watching the numbers next to Berlin on the signs dropping by 5, 6, 7 at a time, going easily the fastest any of us had ever been on a bike. After what felt like only an hour or so, the sun had started to go down and we’d travelled almost another 80km, speeding alongside cars that didn’t seem to be going very much faster than us, with deer parks and forest wildlife reserves on either side. After a long, long stretch of highway-quality road (great for speed) along the 188, through the towns of Gardelegen and Stendal, we finally crossed the Elba at the town of Tangermünder about half an hour after sundown. It was dead quiet as we crossed, the bridge lit up by the moon which by now had waxed to almost full. The other two went ahead of me as I stopped to sort out some loose straps on my bag, and I caught up with them halfway across, looking down in quiet reflection at the wide expanse of the river rushing dark and unending beneath us. We’d nearly made it, and each of us knew it. As tired as we’d ever been, we rolled down the other side of the bridge onto the home straight, with only 80km between us and the finish line. This was it. We were so exhausted we pitched up for our final night in tents just beyond the treeline at the first junction we came to, in full view of the cars whose high-beams caught us like worn-out rabbits, stood blinking, bleary-eyed, holding mismatched tentpoles. After moving further into the woods, we made a quick dinner of rice and veg, and I went straight to sleep while the other two made one last pan of food.

The next day started with the groans and creaks you might expect from a camping holiday organized by a care home for octogenarians, not three young men in the prime of their lives. Despite the pain and stiffness, there were smiles on our tired faces, as we all imagined the relief of a hot shower and a soft bed when we arrived at our friend’s apartment in Berlin. For the record, it should be noted that neither we, our socks nor our tents were smelling all too great by this point. When we reentered civilisation we stopped for pastries and a cup of coffee. As we continued on our way, the kilometres ticked off more and more quickly, with signs for Berlin becoming more and more frequent (we’d startled some dog-walkers pretty badly the day before as we all burst out cheering at the first one we’d seen. On arriving at the town of Nauen, we spent a good forty minutes doing laps all the way up and down the same two roads and roundabout, trying to figure out which way to get to Berlin. We eventually got on the right track thanks to directions from a local football team, whose battering of another local side hadn’t dampened the spirits of the away fans, who were staggering arm-in-arm out of the ground, singing loudly. Surely, fans who are so merry regardless of league standings must be a double-edged sword.

Anyway, to cut what has already been a long story a bit shorter than it might have been, we eventually got to Berlin. Simple as that really, if you cycle for eight days straight then you’re bound to get somewhere, even if it’s only a Lidl. I don’t need to go into the details of the rest of the trip; this post is about the ride itself and to be honest there are probably more interesting things you could be finding out about than the logistics of international train tickets. Suffice it to say that we had a lovely few days in Berlin and then in Amsterdam, after which we got the boat back to the UK from Rotterdam, taking the same Stena Line as got us there what felt like several weeks before. We made it, and we had a fucking great time in doing so. We’d raised a total of about £863 when I last checked, and the JustGiving page will be live for the next few days just in case anyone was waiting to hear the whole story before donating.

If you’re reading this, thanks for sticking with it, I hope these three posts have been interesting enough to make up for the delay in their output. I’ve certainly enjoyed recording and reliving some memories that I know will stay with me for the rest of my life. I’ll sign off here, and leave you with a couple of photos from the last few days of the trip. Peace!

https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/standelakersey

#adventure #fundraising #medecins sans frontieres #distance cycling #sore legs #alles gute #alles klar #blogging #lidl #amsterdam #champagne #hashtags #am i a blogger yet?

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wildlyhardphilosopher-blog · 5 years

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puppy crate training | training a puppy

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puppy crate training | training a puppy

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#how long does it take to potty train a dog #training puppies not to bite

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