Day 10

We awoke totally refreshed and enjoyed sailing through the heads and along Klaipeda’s lagoon. The ship birthed a stone’s-throw from our home. It was a quick simple ride on familiar roads and bike paths. In all we cycled about 5km.

All up on this trip we cycled 448km over mostly flat terrain. We encountered some lovely cycle-paths and some totally ugly trails. I really hated all those frowning furrowed faces that looked so nastily at us and I really valued those few friendly fellows who gave their time. I cannot reconcile the people I met on this trip with my lovely German friends who I have met abroad over the years. It seems to me as if these two groups come from different planets. I have no intention of returning to Germany ever again. Nice enough place, clean enough place, but way too perfect and way too grumpy for me.

Anyhow, our holiday was not over. Shortly after getting home we dashed across the lagoon and drove, bikes in tow, to the coastal town of Pervalka. Here we stayed in the lovely lagoon-side guest-house of Vila Baldininkas and enjoyed the warm hospitality of our hosts.

I was quite excited, because the guest-house was hosting a žygis. A žygis is kind of like a vintage car rally for bicycles. My plan was to cycle the 50km of independent sealed seaside cycle-paths up to the ferry and the start of the žygis, then ride back to the guest-house with the rally.

On the cycle north I rounded a corner and entered a long straight. I was doing about 30kph, when I saw a woman on a bicycle about 500 metres away. I noticed her bike wobble a little, so immediately placed my hands on my brakes and started riding defensively. Everything was fine, she kept to her right and I kept to mine, at the last minute for no explainable reason, she turned hard left directly into my path. I hit the brakes and started heading towards the trees. I clipped the edge of her front wheel, catapulting me over my handlebars. The last thing I remember was hearing and feeling my peddles unclip and being impressed by this technology.

I woke up lying on the edge of the cycle-path, to the sound of a woman with blooded knees walking towards me screeching, “Oh my God, oh my God, what have I done?” Indeed, what had she done? Well for one, she had broken my collarbone. She had also sentenced me to a corrupt hospital system where we were to discover our medical insurance company was equally as corrupt. She has caused us much personal expense and much emotional stress, but hey it wasn’t all bad: other than a little scratch, my bike was not damaged at all.

I cannot help but thinking, this would not have happened in Germany. Germans can ride bicycles and they can ride them in horrifically straight lines. They get to the right as soon as they see you coming and leave you feeling safe. To the best of my knowledge, German hospitals are efficient and not corrupt. I would expect that if a German medical insurance company emails me and says, ‘all your return hospital visits are covered’ that this would mean when we submit the bills, they will actually pay the money. This was not the case in Lithuania or at least not until we kicked up a significant stink.

So my conclusion, you deep furrowed Germans, is that you are not as bad as I make you out to be and if ever I need rigid efficiency and the expectation that the person coming towards me will actually cycle in a straight line, then I want to be on your shores. If I am in a car crash, then I want to be in your cars, if I need to go to hospital then I want to be in your hospitals. However if I want to go on holiday and relax in imperfection, then I will go to Italy.

Addio Germania.

Introduction
Day 1 – Setting Sail
Day 2 – Training, part 1
Day 2 – Training, part 2
Day 3 – New Expectations, part 1
Day 3 – New Expectations, part 2
Day 4 – Cobbles, part 1
Day 4 – Cobbles, part 2
Day 5 – Each Other, part 1
Day 5 – Each Other, part 2
Day 6 –  A Sprocket of a Day, part 1
Day 6 –  A Sprocket of a Day, part 2
Day 7 – Bonking, part 1
Day 7 – Bonking, part 2
Day 7 – Bonking, part 3
Day 8 – Time Keeping
Day 9 – Homeward 
Day 10 – I Love Germany

Day 9

We awoke in a damp tent to be greeted by a warm cloudy morning and relatively scuzzy showers. Our ferry wasn’t until four o’clock in the afternoon, so in theory we had all the time in the world to get there. We had breakfast, dried the tent a little and went for a wee walk through the long-stay caravans and along the harbour shore. It wasn’t the nicest of all places so we headed on out. After only a few kilometres we stopped by the beach outside the Strand Hotel Seeblick and purchased a very good coffee. We shared the September sun and our sandy shore terrace with a woman who was friendly and quite content to share her drink with her book. We were still trying to wake up and were in that end-of-holiday state of mind of trying to maximise every experience. We milked that coffee for every ounce of experience and every minute of peaceful, restful time it gave us. The holiday season was over and the cafe staff seemed content to just let us sit there comforting our books and making the cafe look busy.

Eventually and reluctantly we picked ourselves up and cruised in to the ferry terminal. We were quite early. Bearing the scorn of many, I unpacked our tent and threw it over a couple of chairs and gave it a good airing. The DFDS ferry terminal and especially the toilets had the distinct stink of Lithuania. Though I hadn’t missed the smell, coupled with the sound of Russian and Lithuanian, was making me ready for home.

Our instructions for boarding were to cycle the last 800 or so metres right behind the bus. This was a fun but exhaust-filled experience. I could see the bus driver keeping an eye on us in his rearview mirror and at the same time testing what speed we could get up to. As we left the rear of the bus we came under Lithuanian control. Immediately a young man popped out of nowhere and flagged us on to the ferry. I always get a thrill from riding on to a ferry. Amongst the exhaust fumes and clatter of trucks we endeavoured the arduous task of peeling our panniers off our peddle-bikes. I always get slightly anxious ridden during this stage of boarding.

I was in the process of throwing those heavy saddlebags over my shoulders when a Lithuanian voice hued from the bowels of the boat. It said, “you can leave your bags in the locker.” We wanted to air all our damp stuff in our cabin, so I replied, “I want to take them up to my cabin”. The male face behind the Lithuanian voice smiled (I might be romanticising that part) and answered, “whatever you want”. Oh I was so happy, I was being allowed to think for myself again; I had to fight the temptation not to run up to the non-scowling man and hug him.

Anyhow we lumbered our stuff up to our cabin. Turned all of our bags upside down, unpacked damp sleeping bags, tent and dirty washing and threw them across the beds and floor. After showering and dressing in our last pair of clean clothes, we raced on deck to say good bye to Germany. It was a pleasant day and a nice time sailing out of Kiel; we stayed on deck for at least an hour.

Quietly and perhaps melancholically, we returned to our room. Upon opening the door we were greeted with the most overwhelming of stenches you could imagine. Gosh, perhaps yesterday’s faces had furrowed so deeply at us because we totally and utterly stunk. Quickly I wrenched the air-conditioning on to full, we grabbed our books and fled the fetid air.

The 7.4km we had cycled felt like multiple times more. Sleep snuck up on us early this evening, wrapped his arms around us and rocked us away into a deep, deep restorative slumber. If we dreamed, we didn’t remember this.

Introduction
Day 1 – Setting Sail
Day 2 – Training, part 1
Day 2 – Training, part 2
Day 3 – New Expectations, part 1
Day 3 – New Expectations, part 2
Day 4 – Cobbles, part 1
Day 4 – Cobbles, part 2
Day 5 – Each Other, part 1
Day 5 – Each Other, part 2
Day 6 –  A Sprocket of a Day, part 1
Day 6 –  A Sprocket of a Day, part 2
Day 7 – Bonking, part 1
Day 7 – Bonking, part 2
Day 7 – Bonking, part 3
Day 8 – Time Keeping
Day 9 – Homeward 
Day 10 – I Love Germany

Day 8.

We slept soundly and were very happy to have slept in a warm dry room. ‘ Deutsches Haus’ you served us well and were very hospitable for tour-cyclists.

We had a 10:03 train to catch, so left early enough for a quick supermarket stop, before arriving at the station at 9:33. It seemed the station was a little closer than we thought. In fact it seemed that the terminal was a lot closer than ninety percent of the travelling locals thought. There were quite a few of us standing there waiting for the train. It arrived at 9:53, we all in a very orderly, sullen and quiet manner lined up and boardered the train. We all sat in perfect silence for ten minutes and watched the clock tick over, then at exactly 10:03 the train softly closed its doors and rolled off down the tracks.

I was stunned and smacked straight back into culture-shock. Everyone quietly embarked the train ten minutes early and sat soundlessly there waiting. I kid you not, no one boarded in those ten minutes, no one was running late, no one was jumping on the carriage with cheeky last minute smiles. If they all knew the trains ran like clockwork, why oh why did they all arrive ten minutes early? This perfection was seriously searing my sanity and killing my nerves. For me it takes chaos to find peace. Incidently such perfection isn’t all evil, I was genuinely thankful for this modern train with its level bicycle-friendly entrance.

We changed trains in Rostock. In the next train the cycle carriage was right by the disabled peoples seating and the toilets. To my absolute delight the lock on the toilet door was broken and rattled all the way to Kiel. At last Germany was being nice to me and giving me something damaged, something slightly chaotic to relax my culturally frayed nerves. It was an utterly pleasant trip all the way into Kiel.

We rode around Kiel’s uniformed cycle-paths, stopping briefly at the ridiculously expensive YHA youth hostel, before we decided to keep to plan A and cycle out of town to a camping-ground. About four kilometres into the ride whilst cycling side by side up a hill, Sharon and I looked at each other and said ‘we could get used to this, we could do more of this’. Without knowing it, right there and right then a seed had just been sown for a rather large cycling adventure.

We stopped at a supermarket, purchased some pastries from within the shop and then purchased some delicious fries from a very friendly immigrant, laughing and cooking from his tired-looking caravan. With bellies full, we continued cycling to Campingplatz Möltenort. We met some grumpy cycling man on the way, it seemed to us that he was telling us that we couldn’t cycle any further. My map said otherwise, I was feeling confidently arrogant, so we just ignored his advice and carried on.

The camping-ground had a large open field with a sunny and a shady side. I was hoping to pitch where the morning sun would quickly dry our tiring tent, but alas this was Germany and a random pitch is disorderly. The attendant directed us to the exact spot where we were to camp. This turned out to be in the darkest coldest corner right beside a strange-looking man who was pitching his tent aided by a half empty spirit bottle. Such rigidity as being told exactly where our tent should be was causing me to be desperate for Eastern Europe.

As it turned out, I did not need to wait long. That evening we went to the bar cornered between the camp shop and office and ordered a very good beer with the help of some very experienced locals. There was a woman at the table beside us with a lovely radiant face, sparkling eyes and the slur of a positively drunk person. But at least she was smiling and attempting to be friendly. Those fluttering eyelids were indeed Ukrainian. It ended up being quite a sweet and quite a dodgy final evening.

Though we travelled many miles, we only cycled 12.47km and most of them on city streets.

Introduction
Day 1 – Setting Sail
Day 2 – Training, part 1
Day 2 – Training, part 2
Day 3 – New Expectations, part 1
Day 3 – New Expectations, part 2
Day 4 – Cobbles, part 1
Day 4 – Cobbles, part 2
Day 5 – Each Other, part 1
Day 5 – Each Other, part 2
Day 6 –  A Sprocket of a Day, part 1
Day 6 –  A Sprocket of a Day, part 2
Day 7 – Bonking, part 1
Day 7 – Bonking, part 2
Day 7 – Bonking, part 3
Day 8 – Time Keeping
Day 9 – Homeward 
Day 10 – I Love Germany

Day 7.

Our next stop was Wieck. A little wind had picked up, so we decided to shelter in a very cute cove. There were plenty of German tourists roaming around and we were very fortunate to get one of two benches for ourselves. We decided to have a coffee, so proceeded in baffling the holidaymakers by pulling out our stove and boiling some water. The sun was shining through a gentle breeze, it seemed like a God given opportunity to dry our washing. Without thinking I strung our clothesline between our bikes and hung a jersey and our cycle underwear.

Now bear in mind a day or so back we had watched Germans get naked on a beach whilst getting into their togs. It seemed to people on the beach that there was nothing unusual about this public display of nudity. Within a minute of hanging our undies up it felt like we had the collective wrath of Deutschland scowling down their noses at us. I mean these people glared so nastily at us that I suspect their deep furrows were causing them physical pain. Ugh, would a smile do any harm? Not feeling overly welcome, well not feeling welcome at all, we finished our drinks and left pretty quickly.

In this part of Germany, they give you instructions on how to walk.

About three kilometres down the road Sharon’s gears started playing up again. We stopped and stuffed around while an increasingly grumpy Kel failed totally to fix them. We were looking forward to getting another three kilometres down the road to a town called Ahrenshoop. Ahrenshoop is one of Sharon’s ancestral homes. Yes she has Prussian blood in her; this explains why in the cupboard at home our canned goods are standing proud and tall in regimented straight lines. Fortunately she has been balanced out with some Scottish blood which means sometimes she forgets to turn the labels so they face outwards.

Anyhow we struggled in a head wind along gravel tracks. Sharon’s gears were shonkally misbehaving.

Sharon had told me for years that she did not want to return to the birthplace of her kin, apparently she did not want to spoil her fond memories of the place. On the other hand her family had so majestically painted their mystical haven homeland to me that I was really very keen to see this surely heavenly place.

Well, we rounded the corner to discover that Ahrenshoop is no longer framed by pearly gates and instead had been overtaken by the automobile and its camera wielding inhabitants. In short, we sucked in petrol fumes and dodged car worn hiking boots all the way to the oasis of a lovely little bicycle shop. They gladly relieved us of Sharon’s tiring bike and allowed me to leave mine there while they repaired and we found food.

We dodged cars all the way to a fish restaurant. Sharon had remembered how great the fish was and I hadn’t destroyed this memory for her yet. Sharon went in to buy and I searched for an outdoor seat. After an exorbitant time Sharon returned with a deep fretted furrow frown holding two postage size plates of fish and chips. She was righteously complaining about the price while I glared back at her thinking of my shrinking stomach that needed to be full with cycling fuel. Oh my goodness we were becoming like everyone else, frowning and glaring; it was time to get out of ‘Dodge’.

We groaned and grimaced our way back to the oasis. It appeared that it only took the bike mechanic a few minutes to fix Sharon’s bike and he did not want to charge us for it. Cycle shops seem to always have quality people in them who are always ready with a special kind of compassion for tour-cyclists. In effort to give them some kind of money we purchased a repair kit, said thanks and got our hungry bellies out of town just as quickly as we could.

“Sharon, I am truly sorry for destroying your fairytale memories of your ancestral fishy fatherland. I know I have destroyed your Ahrenshoop, please forgive me and I will never again deliberately knock the tin-cans in our cupboard out of their straight German lines.”

Introduction
Day 1 – Setting Sail
Day 2 – Training, part 1
Day 2 – Training, part 2
Day 3 – New Expectations, part 1
Day 3 – New Expectations, part 2
Day 4 – Cobbles, part 1
Day 4 – Cobbles, part 2
Day 5 – Each Other, part 1
Day 5 – Each Other, part 2
Day 6 –  A Sprocket of a Day, part 1
Day 6 –  A Sprocket of a Day, part 2
Day 7 – Bonking, part 1
Day 7 – Bonking, part 2
Day 7 – Bonking, part 3
Day 8 – Time Keeping
Day 9 – Homeward 
Day 10 – I Love Germany

Day 7.

This was the best morning of our trip. Concerned about the sky, we quickly and quietly ploughed through the juggling process of showering and felling our tent. During this necessary ritual I felt the eyes of our neighbouring Combi campers upon us. We both set up our breakfast tables around the same time. Theirs was actually a real table adorned with lovely looking bread and fresh flowers. Ours was once again our faithful ground sheet. Somewhere around the time of boiling our water, I glanced up to be greeted with a smile and a ‘Guten Tag’. This was a beautiful moment.

A little earlier at the handbasin in the bathroom, I had been frustratingly trying to work out how to get soap from the dispenser. Inadvertently I placed a hand underneath it; to my surprise soap landed on my hand. The ordeal was trying to find a tap to get water from. Accidentally my hands passed under a spout; water came out. The next thing I knew hot air was blowing over my hands. Inside my head I swore and said nasty things about Germany. Culture-shock had snuck up on me. I was craving imperfection, desperately searching for something broken or not working properly. I was also searching for relationship, searching for anyone to be interested in us without furrowed brows and a scowl.

Sitting there with their lovely set table, our elderly neighbours gave us an almost apologetic smile. Being slow to learn and a glutton for punishment I stood up walked over to them, stuck out my hand and said hello. We did not have too many words in common, but language does not matter when people want to communicate. The couple asked to see our maps and wanted to know where we had been. They were from southern Germany and used to tour-cycle in their younger days. When their knees gave-up, they purchased their camper and continued touring. It was the only time during this whole trip when strangers actually reached out to us. This moment was a highlight.

Before we left they obligingly took a photo of us. “Elderly couple, whoever you were, whereever you are, thanks so, so much for being kind to us.”

We jumped on our bikes and cycled to the office. The office was closed and did not open for another twenty minutes. I was keen to keep cycling, Sharon was keen to wait. So we walked around to their camp store. This tiny, tiny wee shop had absolutely everything in it. We purchased yoghurt for breakfast, oil for my chain and shower flip-flops.

Back in the camping-ground office an unfriendly woman demanded that I fill out a forest of forms before she could accept my money. Thirty minutes later, around 9:30 am we finally hit the road. Once again the cycle-paths were excellent. About ten kilometres up the road we found a bench overlooking a flotilla of yachts heading in to harbour. This was the perfect spot to lube my chain and have second breakfast.

Five minutes up the road in the very pretty and busy town of Zingst I spotted a tacky souvenir shop selling cheap nasty sunglasses. Yay, at last my eyes were able to get some protection from this beautiful Baltic sun. From here we shared a coastal path west with many tourists. I had a very near miss with a kid on a bike who flew out of the trees directly into my path.

Introduction
Day 1 – Setting Sail
Day 2 – Training, part 1
Day 2 – Training, part 2
Day 3 – New Expectations, part 1
Day 3 – New Expectations, part 2
Day 4 – Cobbles, part 1
Day 4 – Cobbles, part 2
Day 5 – Each Other, part 1
Day 5 – Each Other, part 2
Day 6 –  A Sprocket of a Day, part 1
Day 6 –  A Sprocket of a Day, part 2
Day 7 – Bonking, part 1
Day 7 – Bonking, part 2
Day 7 – Bonking, part 3
Day 8 – Time Keeping
Day 9 – Homeward 
Day 10 – I Love Germany

Day 6.

I was comfortably bored by the time we got to Klausdorf and spent much time entertaining myself and infuriating Sharon with screaming bad humour about Santa-Claus-dorf. Sadly it was here where my humour started to dry up. We turned into a tail-wind and once again when we cranked up the gears, I left Sharon for dust. I could not understand why and was worried. When conditions are good and these conditions were perfect, then it is necessary to click over some miles. It is my hope that we will cycle many more miles together, but if we struggle to comfortably survive eighty kilometre days, then for me something needs to change. I think it was here in nowhereville Germany that I started grieving the possible end of long lazy cycling trips together. I asked Sharon what gear she was in. Her reply was; ‘3-7’. This was her highest gear, but yet she was cycling so slowly. In frustration I looked down at her sprockets and rather annoyingly noted that she was actually in 2-7.

Just before we left on this journey, we had put the bike in to be serviced. We have possibly the world’s best bike shop here in Klaipėda. They had told me there were problems with her gears and said the numbers on her gear-grip would not match the actual gear she was in and that she would just have to strongly ratchet her gears up on to the top ring. Sharon did not grow up on bicycles and with many things tends to rely on facts, not feelings. This was one of those cases. I encouraged her to use all her strength and force it on to the top ring. After a physical fight with her handgrip gear shifter her chain popped up into 3-7 and zoom she disappeared into the distance. I have never been so happy to be left in someone’s wake. Laughing, smiling and mentally planning many more years of tour-cycling, I clicked up my gears and with some effort chased her down.

Cycling and SMSing, not the safest thing in the world.

Our wheels stopped rolling at the ‘Children and Family Hotel’ in Nisdorf. We were a little tired: we had already cycled past our planned camping spot and were perhaps hoping for a B&B in Barth. It seemed that a large group of families had arrived at the hotel just before us. I staggered, grimy and smelling into their bar, to be greeted with horror by many well dressed parents and a tribe of energetic kids. Fortunately the host rescued me and sold us some rather expensive but delicious fizzy drinks. Sitting outside in the sun, we cackled our way through the conversation of Sharon’s gears. It was really quite remarkable that she had managed to get this far only using her lower gears. It was also perhaps a reminder that it is nearing time for Sharon’s old faithful German bike to be put out to pasture.

A filling of our water bottles and a toilet were required. I felt bad romping through this classy hotel in my cleat-clad cycle shoes; it was definitely the poshest place I had ever stunk in. By the time we left, the kids had invaded our quiet spot with a collection of carts and bikes. Leaving was like riding through a moving, screaming and laughing obstacle course. These kids were the happiest Germans we saw on the trip.

Anyhow, we zoomed along peaceful cycle-paths towards Barth, and even had to climb a testing little hill. We stopped at a guest-house in Barth, but there was no room for us. It was now dusk, and we had cycled close to eighty kilometres and were keen to stop and explore what looked like a nice town. The second guest-house looked empty, yet was also full. The mother and daughter who greeted us were rather talkative. Unbelievably we wasted about thirty minutes of fading light as they walked us up the road, knocking on a neighbour’s door in search of our beds.

It was dark by the time we left. Sharon was using her fantastic Silva LED flashing lights again and we wore all our high-viability clothing. In the dark at Pruchten we stopped at another Zimmer Frei, the host could not understand us and with a ferocity I still cannot believe, she grabbed a kid passing on a bike and commanded him to translate. She barked an expensive price at us and when she saw we were actually thinking about it, pretty much doubled the cost with a cleaning bill. This rude woman who perhaps had an empty room clearly didn’t want us sleeping in it.

Riding up the road, we stumbled into a nice looking pub and met a friendly person who tried to rent a whole house to us for the night. However his price was about the same as our budget for the whole cycle trip.

Knowing there was a camping ground close, we cycled through the dark. I stopped at another guest-house and was greeted by what I presume was a guest who simply said ‘no’. So it was to be another night in the tent. We rode into the huge and very busy ‘Naturcamp Pruchten’ at about 9pm. We cycled in circles for a bit looking for a set area for tents; not finding this we quietly pitched our tent under a tree beside a Volkswagen Combi. The Camping-ground office was closed, but we were both able to shower. There was a very nice restaurant on site and sat outside until almost 11pm enjoying a beer and some pastries Sharon had picked up somewhere during the day. It was a very pleasant end to a rather different 88.32 kms day.

Introduction
Day 1 – Setting Sail
Day 2 – Training, part 1
Day 2 – Training, part 2
Day 3 – New Expectations, part 1
Day 3 – New Expectations, part 2
Day 4 – Cobbles, part 1
Day 4 – Cobbles, part 2
Day 5 – Each Other, part 1
Day 5 – Each Other, part 2
Day 6 –  A Sprocket of a Day, part 1
Day 6 –  A Sprocket of a Day, part 2
Day 7 – Bonking, part 1
Day 7 – Bonking, part 2
Day 7 – Bonking, part 3
Day 8 – Time Keeping
Day 9 – Homeward 
Day 10 – I Love Germany

Day 6

Once again we woke to a dew-covered tent and cool wet grass. We have a very good Macpac Mineret tent, but for some reason my sleeping bag had been getting wet. So once again a clothes-line was strung and my down-bag hung. We were quick to empty the tent and move it pitched into the sun. We sat watching the morning mist rise from farrowed fields and lazily enjoyed our porridge.

We started our ride waking up with cows alongside a sleepy Kubitzer Bodden. There were dog walkers out and as per usual I quietly tinkled my bell a few metres behind them as a warning that two idiot cyclists were about to pass. As per usal this kind gesture was greeted with condemnatory glares. The other option is that we silently ride past. Usually the result of this is a horrifically frightened pooch walker clearly not expecting random Kiwis on quiet bikes to be intruding on their territory. Passing isolated walkers and ringing or not ringing our bell is always a damned-if-you-do and damned-if-you-don’t situation. The danger is, when startled they tend to jump in front of us.

Heading towards Rambin, over our left shoulder was the E22 and main road to the island’s capital city of Bergen. There was clearly a traffic jam on the E22: this made us even happier to be quietly zooming our way along quiet back-roads in search of breakfast. With no warning we turned a corner into bumper to bumper traffic. It was horrible. Trucks and cars that couldn’t really fit on the road in their effort to avoid the traffic jam were all competing for space on a road barely wide enough for two cyclists.

Quite relieved we arrived in Drammendorf and turned out of the traffic. Here we stumbled across two elder men pottering over their car. I asked for directions on how to find a shop. In an effort to draw a map they promptly produced a piece of cardboard. With considerable pride one of the men said, ‘we are German, we do maps’. Then he started to leave looking for a pen. Reaching for the pen in my bar-bag I called him back and said, ‘we are Kiwis, we come prepared’. The gentleman smiled at me, my attempt at humour did not make it over the language or cultural barrier. We enjoyed the encounter and followed his scribbled German precision flawlessly to the shop.

The shop was pleasantly weird. Sharon went in and purchased our morning yoghurt and I stayed with the bikes and surveyed the craft that was on sale. They had a variety of glass frogs and tin birds, each supporting huge smiles. Scanning the small crowd of mulling people I could not see a smile anywhere; in fact I am unsure I saw a smile on the whole island, but yet all this craft was grinning ear to ear.

As only freedom campers can do, we frightened the locals and made good use of their well vented toilets, then endured their scorn filling our water bottles in their hand-basin.

Leaving, we cycled back into the village and found a table, dried our clothes and enjoyed our second breakfast. Two older woman walked past, gave us lovely smiles and seemed genuinely happy to see us sitting in front of their church using their table. I wonder if it was these people who made the glass frogs and tin birds.

Venturing out into the wind we followed the bodden along a collection of quiet roads, gravel track and bumping cycle paths. Once again on flat ground I was alarmed at how slow Sharon was cycling.

Stopping for morning tea in the bustling ferry port of Altefähr. We sat outside in the sun with a plate of fries and another bad coffee we reflected on our island adventure and mourned a little that our time in this cute wee village was so short.

The village’s exit was a steep cobble stone street, a ride through houses along a ridge before popping out beside the highway where this journey had started. Officially we had circumnavigated the island. It had been quite the adventure and a lot of fun. We had experimented with free-camping for the first time, survived to tell the story and really enjoyed it. But this wasn’t the end of the story: starting with a rather large bridge, we still had a day and a half to ride.

On our first night we had camped near the Rügendamm bridge and now it was time to cross it I was very excited. I passed my camera to Sharon and off I set into a quiet sea of ‘texting’ cyclists plus fishermen. At one stage I even stopped to help a man get his fishing gear across a fence. Unfortunately the end of the bridge symbolised for us the start of the largest city we have ever cycled through.

Fortunately it was a lazy early Saturday afternoon and my printed Google maps were quite detailed. Living in Lithuania we have learned to fear following cycle paths across roads. Sharon managed to seemingly upset the majority of the city’s motorists with giving way to cars when she had the right-of-way. As is our daily routine, we stopped at a supermarket, Sharon dashed in, I sat at a table in a bakery and guarded our stuff.

Our experience of Straslund was of good motorists, simple cycle-tracks, rude, rude people and an irritatingly noisy cannon. That’s really all I want to say about Straslund; a pretty city that will not get a return visit in a hurry. By the time we got to Kramerhof we were enjoying ourselves again. We gave directions to a lost couple somewhere near Grob Damitz. I love giving directions to people when neither of us speak the same language. Hand signals and smiles can go a long way towards world peace. Shortly after, we ourselves got lost at some kind of military base in Klein Damitz and then stumbled upon a picnic table beside Prohner Wiek. We were a little tired and took this opportunity overlooking the water to stop and cook our noodle and pesto lunch. Although it was an unlikely fusion of food, Malaysia meets Italy was perfect for this sunny day.

Introduction
Day 1 – Setting Sail
Day 2 – Training, part 1
Day 2 – Training, part 2
Day 3 – New Expectations, part 1
Day 3 – New Expectations, part 2
Day 4 – Cobbles, part 1
Day 4 – Cobbles, part 2
Day 5 – Each Other, part 1
Day 5 – Each Other, part 2
Day 6 –  A Sprocket of a Day, part 1
Day 6 –  A Sprocket of a Day, part 2
Day 7 – Bonking, part 1
Day 7 – Bonking, part 2
Day 7 – Bonking, part 3
Day 8 – Time Keeping
Day 9 – Homeward 
Day 10 – I Love Germany

Day 5

Slightly panicking I rode out of town. A few kilometres up the road I stopped a couple of tour-cyclists and asked where they had come from and where they were going and if they had seen my loving lost wife. They hadn’t, but agreed to pass on a message if they met her. I cycled on to Kuhle, turned around and cycled the 4.3 kilometres back to Dranske without seeing her. I asked again at the shop and we decided that I would return to the roadworks one last time before calling the police.

As I approached the roadworks, the silence was uncharacteristically broken by the sound of voices. I  spied the previously encountered tour-cyclists and following them chuntering away was my precious missing bride. We were both relieved and befuddled. The couple who had passed on my message were leading Sharon to the outsides of town. I had asked them to direct her to the shop in the town centre and then set her off cycling toward Kuhle and I would meet her on my way back. When I bumped into them they were escorting Sharon around the outskirts of the village. If I had been a minute later I would have totally missed her.

Sharon’s side of the story was that when she reached the town, she wisely waited at the entrance because this was the last place she had sighted me. She was quite concerned about how long it was taking me to return to her, but was seemingly content to read her book until being rescued by our new tour-cyclist friends.

I am not sure how many lessons we learnt from this experience, but am glad we learnt them in such hospitable territory. Hungry, we cycled to the shop and thanked them for their concern before riding out to the village supermarket. Again I couldn’t help but notice that on such good cycle paths Sharon was travelling uncharacteristically slow. We found a wee gazebo just off the bike path, stopped and cooked a very very late lunch.

We flew through Kuhle. Following the lagoon south, we passed Wiek and rode fun cycle tracks all the way to the Wittower Ferry. We stopped there for breakfast – yes, breakfast. Our day was so muddled we had yet to eat our breakfast rations and had no idea where or when supper would be.

We turned west again and travelled rough concrete-block roads indicative of a communist past. Eventually we ambled our way into the very picturesque village of Schaprode. We stumbled across public toilets and since our water bottles were empty, decided to pay and both empty and refill our systems. It was late in the day and the woman serving us wanted to get home. She was visibly angry at me for filling my water bottles and was murmuring all sorts of German words I am sure I could not repeat. This quiet sour barrage only increased when I opened the toilet door and asked Sharon to pass me her bottles.

Regretting that we did not have more time and aware of the fading light, we continued riding. It turned out a ferry had just docked and seemingly millions of people needed to be driving down the same narrow road as us. In any other country this would have been a horrific problem, but not here in Germany; these people know how to respect road users of the cycling variety.

Because of time and light, we had decided to take a shortcut and follow busier roads into Trent. In Trent we stopped in a rather posh outdoor restaurant for a healthy Coke and pee. By now we were riding with lights on and appreciating our excellent Endura high-visibility gilets. We hurriedly rushed the next five kilometre stretch of main road. Again even when Sharon was trying to rush, for her she was annoyingly slow. Somewhere at the back of my brain this was beginning to concern me.

We turned right and followed a lovely quiet road into the night and into Gingst. It was a warm evening; people were sitting in outdoor restaurants, silently enjoying their evening meals. We set out to find a guest-house. After encountering some helpful people, we concluded the town was either booked out or ridiculously out of our price range.

By now it was dark. I was riding with one hand on the handlebars and the other shining Sharon’s torch on my map. We had decided to navigate another shortcut until we found a quiet place to pitch our tent. We hung a left and set out through the night across a narrow concrete track through a farmer’s field. This was not a problem for me; I have a dynamo in my front hub that provides excellent light. On the other hand, Sharon had to be considerably braver. Her battery powered flickering front light was designed only to be seen and was totally useless for illuminating the path in front. She had to rely on the moon and my light.

She did this for the next five kilometres until we happened across the sleeping hamlet of Landow. We nestled ourselves behind a farmer’s barn, threw our ground-sheet across the evening dew, made a cuppa tea and ate some delicious pastries we had been carrying for the last thirty kilometres. We spent the next wee bit watching stars and satellites, talking through the day and generally being glad we were still together.

This day and evening I travelled 94.14 kilometres and Sharon probably clicked over around 85. Though the day had many adventures which threatened to ruin it, we chalked it up as a good day. We pitched the tent for our final night on peaceful Rügen Island and contentedly drifted off to sleep.

Introduction
Day 1 – Setting Sail
Day 2 – Training, part 1
Day 2 – Training, part 2
Day 3 – New Expectations, part 1
Day 3 – New Expectations, part 2
Day 4 – Cobbles, part 1
Day 4 – Cobbles, part 2
Day 5 – Each Other, part 1
Day 5 – Each Other, part 2
Day 6 –  A Sprocket of a Day, part 1
Day 6 –  A Sprocket of a Day, part 2
Day 7 – Bonking, part 1
Day 7 – Bonking, part 2
Day 7 – Bonking, part 3
Day 8 – Time Keeping
Day 9 – Homeward 
Day 10 – I Love Germany

Chapter 5

We awoke to the sounds of trees bending in the breeze, sand being claimed by gently flowing waves, and deathly quiet and considerate people starting their morning ablutions.

We very quickly purchased swipe cards which magically controlled both the toilet blocks and the all important hot water from the shower. Relieving slept-in sweet from our bodies, seemed to do little to relieve our morning grumpy tiredness or get us on the road at a respectable time.

Sharon is a goal-focused person and I’m the journey orientated kind. I could sit on my bike and ride slowly all day and totally enjoy myself. Sharon, she likes to race to the first village, get off and explore, then race to the next scenic point, dismount and take in the sights. She will repeat this process all day, happy with the stops and bored with the bits in-between.

Marriage is a beautiful thing and compromise is part of its core. I plan our trips, the Scout in me loves the hours and hours of pouring over maps. Sharon and I talk almost painfully through each trip and she gets to choose at least one point of interest per day where we stop and explore on foot. Usually this means me hugging a coffee lost in a book and protecting Sharon’s bike, while she with the ferocity of a Japanese tourist frantically devours the town. At least this is my perspective.

Her magic spot for this day was the very beach we had hurriedly rushed out of. I had totally forgotten. I usually do not wake up until after the first twenty kilometres of riding. In her morning or perhaps mourning fatigue, Sharon was unable to communicate this. The inevitable happened, we stopped at a beautiful lookout, oblivious to the view and discussed what had happened before eventually and without any other options agreeing to continue riding.

After another five kilometres of silent cycling, we took a wrong but fortuitous turn and stumbled across the gorgeous seaside village of Vitt. We quickly found Cafe am Meer and ordered pungent wake-me-up coffee. Sharon spent an unexpected forty or so minutes watching cliff-side waves quietly collide with a dilapidated pier. And in true role reversal I walloped down my coffee and cake and responded to my camera’s faithful call for ‘walkies’. We escaped just as the morning’s collection of overweight, but strangely quiet, must-of-been-German tourists arrived. On the way out, we managed to pop into a lovely wee church and buy those all important postcards.

Next we meandered into the totally tourist infested lighthouse village of Kap Arkona. I stopped for the obligatory been-there-probably-won’t-return photo, before entering the obstacle course of moving silent dour dogs, baby buggies and walking-poled plodders. Without exception everyone said good morning and politely stepped aside for us. This order was really starting to irritate me.

We quietly rode west, flanked by stunning Baltic clifftop views until things deteriorated into soft sand and a waiting Dutchman. This enthusiastic direction-giving non-cyclist was interestingly quick to point out his Dutchness. His happy demeanour sent us into the forest to avoid the soft sand. Under this filtered canopy we met some stern Germans who were definitely telling us not to head in the direction we were going. We had run or perhaps ridden out of options, ignored their advice and followed by a young family, plunged into the heart of the bush. We totally left the soft sand behind us, but were forced to push our bikes through what felt like thick jungle. We popped out somewhere near Bakenberg. I marked this spot on my map for having a shop. Sharon rested on a corner and I fruitlessly searched. We ended up stopping for a snack in Lancken, another village without a shop.

From here we had fantastic downhill-tailwind roads seemingly all the way into Dranske. By now we were hungry Sharon was riding perplexingly slow, so I yelled over my shoulder that I would scout out the village for a supermarket and meet her in the town-centre. I sped off with the wind blowing through that spot where my hair used to be. I followed signs towards the centre, hit roadworks, ad-libbed a little before hitting a town centre that consisted of a corner shop, a few cafes and a ferry port. I searched for a supermarket and returned back to the corner shop. Interestingly enough Sharon was not there. So I rode back to the roadworks to see if Sharon had decided to wait there, but no Sharon. Next I searched for and rode all the other possible entrances to the town, but still no Sharon. I asked at the shop if they had seen her. Compassionately they replied no, but I could use their phone to call her; Sharon does not take her phone on holiday. I again rode out to the other side of the roadworks that were on the edge of the town, thinking that maybe Sharon had stopped there not knowing what to do.

Oh gosh, this was becoming quite the worry; I had plenty of water, little food and little money. I returned to the shop, the employees there had now become quite concerned. I informed them that on the odd chance that Sharon had carried on to the next village, that I would cycle on and return there to call the police if I could not find her.

Slightly panicking I rode out of town. A few kilometres up the road I stopped a couple of tour-cyclists and asked where they had come from and where they were going and if they had seen my loving lost wife. They hadn’t, but agreed to pass on a message if they met her. I cycled on to Kuhle, turned around and cycled the 4.3 kilometres back to Dranske without seeing her. I asked again at the shop and we decided that I would return to the roadworks one last time before calling the police.

Introduction
Day 1 – Setting Sail
Day 2 – Training, part 1
Day 2 – Training, part 2
Day 3 – New Expectations, part 1
Day 3 – New Expectations, part 2
Day 4 – Cobbles, part 1
Day 4 – Cobbles, part 2
Day 5 – Each Other, part 1
Day 5 – Each Other, part 2
Day 6 –  A Sprocket of a Day, part 1
Day 6 –  A Sprocket of a Day, part 2
Day 7 – Bonking, part 1
Day 7 – Bonking, part 2
Day 7 – Bonking, part 3
Day 8 – Time Keeping
Day 9 – Homeward 
Day 10 – I Love Germany

Day 4

From the ferry roads we had a long uphill stretch that lead us around the outskirts of Sassnitz until eventually and gloriously both cars and people faded into the distance behind us. Unfortunately the wonderful cycle path also stopped. The track turned    mildly steep and into nasty bumpy cobblestones. This was our welcome to the Jasmund National Park. We stopped at the first seat that we found, had a cup of tea, caught our breath and enjoyed filtered afternoon sun shining through the tree canopy.

There were many signs here, most of them pointing to the same two places, it seemed unlikely that the mud path I was looking at was actually the main cycle route around the island, but it was.

We plunged forward into the forest. It was very quiet in there, slightly sandy with little hillocks and muddy valleys. It was nearing the end of the day and we were getting tired, most signs were a little ambiguous, but generally speaking if my internal compass kept focusing north, we would be okay.

We followed the track and followed the track, eventually it deteriorated into a very awkward seemingly unending uphill chunky cobblestone path. With great relief we emerged into a lovely wee peaceful glade. Sharon’s first words were, ‘we have been here before’. It took me a few minutes to recognise the spot – she was correct. Then the sinking realisation settled in that we had just done a 10km circuit through the forest and over all of those ugly cobbles. So much for my internal compass.

Deflated and tired, we realised it was time for plan B. We decided we did not need to see the cliffs we should have been heading towards and to cut out the northern section of the forest. We headed back into the forest and followed the same mud track for the next two kilometres, before turning west and eventually out of the national park.

As soon as we left the canopy, of trees we were greeted with hot blasting sun and yet more cobblestones. The difference this time was we were on a road. We had learnt with cobblestones that at the edge of the stones there is often a very narrow smooth dusty trail. However both edges of this road were infested with brambles that persisted in tugging at our drying washing and the clothes we were wearing.

This was a hard infuriating ride. At one stage we stopped at a farmhouse and lent on their fence hoping for some friendly direction and encouragement. Rather upset to see us, begrudgingly a man walked over and told us to keep cycling and eventually we would hit a sealed road.

After four kilometres of cobbles and quite far in front of Sharon, I hit the main road. Whilst waiting I watched a vintage tractor being driven up a side road by a four-year-old sitting on his father’s lap. It was a beautiful sight that flooded back a lot of childhood memories.

Bedraggledly Sharon appeared and without stopping we quietly crossed a busy road and continued cycling. We once again had the luxury of a paved independent cycle path and rejoined the official track in the cobblestoned village of Gummanz. We were too tired to really notice our surrounds. We cycled across the front lawn of some kind of resort and eventually found our way to a sheltered spot between a cornfield and tennis court. It was supper time. Couscous, tuna and chilli were on the menu.

From here we had a lovely mostly downhill cycle track, around a lake over a bridge and into the bustling town of Glowe. We been searching for a cash machine pretty much since we hit the island. I called into a supermarket and asked where an ATM was. The friendly man behind the till informed me that if I purchased something and withdrew to the combined value of 300 euro then he could give me cash. 300 euro was more than our entire budget for our time on the island. I said ‘no thanks’. However he did say there was an ATM in the next town. So off into the dusk we rode.

We ended up at a pier in Breege. This village was gorgeous, but darkness was falling and we could not afford to stop. I asked for directions and was sent back in the direction from which we had come. It seemed that we had ridden past the cash machine. We stopped a second time for instructions and were pointed toward a very tidy little building at the edge of a car-park. We would have never have known that this perfect little building housed an ATM.

Smelling, tired and a little cranky we cycled into the night. A few kilometres up the road and just after 9pm we arrived at the camping-ground. This place was flat, sandy and right on the beach. All its amenities were beyond the usual standard of German perfection. The annoying part was the showers operated on a prepaid card system. The payment card had to be purchased from the camping-ground’s closed shop. We fell asleep in the fug of each other’s body odour.

It was a hard and exhausting day. We survived 82.68 kms and though our night’s accommodation was busy, we were happy to have left the populated parts of the island behind.

Introduction
Day 1 – Setting Sail
Day 2 – Training, part 1
Day 2 – Training, part 2
Day 3 – New Expectations, part 1
Day 3 – New Expectations, part 2
Day 4 – Cobbles, part 1
Day 4 – Cobbles, part 2
Day 5 – Each Other, part 1
Day 5 – Each Other, part 2
Day 6 –  A Sprocket of a Day, part 1
Day 6 –  A Sprocket of a Day, part 2
Day 7 – Bonking, part 1
Day 7 – Bonking, part 2
Day 7 – Bonking, part 3
Day 8 – Time Keeping
Day 9 – Homeward 
Day 10 – I Love Germany