Tag: bike-packing

Day 6: Heidenau – Bremen

Distance: 54.39 miles

Time: 4:51:34

Average Speed: 11.2 mph

Elevation Gain: 616 feet

Arriving at the Ferienzentrum Heidenau campsite, I had a familiar issue to other days, the reception was closed and there was a number to call for late check ins. What was the code again, +45? I gave it a ring. No such number, I tried again, then a third time for luck, before remembering that I was in a different country now, the code for Germany was +49.

The site was charming, and although the man on the phone hadn’t really explained where I was to camp – just telling me to take the second turn on the right – I knew it when I saw it, the quaint duck pond, surrounded by trees and where a smattering of other tents were already set up.

Retracing my steps, the following morning, I continued by turning down some quiet country lanes, navigation aided by a couple of cyclists in the distance. eventually reaching Sittensen, where I hoped to stop at the supermarket to buy supplies, before quickly pressing on. My plan appeared to have been foiled when I passed a large Edeka superstore on the way in. It only appeared to be open from Montag to Samstag, and this was a Sonntag. It was the same story at both Aldi and Lidl, was I still in the 21st century I wondered? The answer was yes, and all the shops in Germany were closed on a Sunday.

Plans scuppered, I resigned myself to having to visit ‘Soul Kitchen’ for a Black Angus burger and sweet potato fries, it tasted pretty good, but I still wasn’t happy about it.

Much later than expected, I headed out of town, in the direction of Gross Meckelsen, the route winding its way between the fields. Open stretches into the wind were a chore and I was frustrated at how slowly the miles were ticking by, soon reverting to counting in kilometres instead.

Like Sittensen, the pedestrianised centre of the large town of Zeven was like a ghost town, and I noted that the roads were much quieter than they had been for the rest of the week, too.

I started aiming for the village after next as a ploy to keep myself on the bike a little longer between stops, from Kirchtimke, I skipped Westertimke and kept on rolling to Tarmstedt, where I paused briefly before turning onto Bremer Landstrasse, on the final approach to Bremen.

On reaching the city limits at Lilienthal, I briefly followed a tram into town, before the route skirted north around a large pond on the outskirts and down a busy mono-blocked cycle path, towards the old town.

Skirting around the inside of the city walls, I past the Kunsthalle Bremen art gallery and crossed the Weser river onto a large river island, or Werder (from where the local football team get their name) to reach the Reisemobil Stellplatz campground. The reception was closed, and the windows of the building featured a barrage of information, in German, that even my trusty translate app could not make head nor tail of.

With the time ticking beyond half past 7 at night, I didn’t have a lot of time to spare, so quickly phoned the next nearest campsite, HanseCamping Bremen, some 5 miles away, and back in the direction I’d just come, to see if I could stay there. Ja, was the quick reply, but you’ll need to get here by 8.

Spinning the pedals as fast as my legs would allow, I ploughed back through the centre of the Bremen old town, before ending up on a different route out of town, through a forest on a rough gravel track – the affect on my tyres, not something I’d be worrying about right now.

Almost taken by surprise, I arrived at the site by the back door, rushing into the reception at 19:56, I couldn’t believe I’d managed the 5 mile route in under 23 minutes. At best the proprietor looked bemused, what was all the fuss about?

Still to have dinner, I tried the restaurant at the door of the campsite, but they had stopped serving, so I cycled back to Landhaus Kushiel, a pleasantly situated restaurant – with beer terrace overlooking the canal – that I had passed on the way in several hours ago, but although its opening hours were until 11, it was already closed, at 9 o’clock.

Finally, after a 5 mile round trip, I found an Italian, Bellini im Tresor, at the far side of the large University campus, they were still serving, and when they did, it was worth the wait. I had tagliatelle with beef and girolle mushrooms in a truffle sauce, all washed down with a pleasant, citrusy, half litre of Alster beer. I was relieved to finally get my fuelling started for tomorrow.

Day 5: Hamburg – Heidenau

Distance: 31.31 miles

Time: 3:31:08

Average Speed: 8.9 mph

Elevation Gain: 940 feet

The hotel in Hamburg was showing the late match of Portugal vs France on the big screen, so I had a few glasses of bier vom fass, oblivious to the fact that the match was happening just a few miles away.

Awakening the next morning, I was readying myself to cycle the 3 miles across town to run my first international Parkrun, at Alstervorland park, then at 3 minutes to 9, I suddenly remembered that Parkruns in Germany started at 9, not half past, like back home in Scotland. I had been remembering, until I wasn’t. It was probably for the best I thought, I could definitely use the extra sleep, but, knowing that some of my more bloodthirsty readers would be disappointed in me for giving up so easily, I readied to go anyway, at least to see the course.

Arriving at the course, they’d already begun tidying the signs for the opening part of the course away, so even if I had wanted to attempt it, I wouldn’t know where to start. Unless… I opened the route map on the Parkrun website on my phone, and started to piece together the route from what I’d seen, then thought I may as well give it a go! 26 minutes later I’d managed to stumble my way around the course, ending up with a little too much distance, but my attempt at the Parkrun course was close enough to register as an ‘Alstervorland Parkrun’ segment attempt on Strava. It would have been a nice run too, flat on firm gravel paths, and beside a lovely lake.

Back on the road, it was becoming clear that Hamburg was more a city of industry than culture, as I passed through a world of concrete and iron, and billowing chimneys. The cycle path, while serving its main purpose of keeping me off the road well, was causing me some irritation as it meandered around the pavement, then across to the opposite pavement, then onto the road and back again.

Stopping at a busy flea market by the canal, I hoped to get some lunch before leaving the city confines. When the only option was a Nutella crepe, I kept on moving, before stopping for a pizza just off the main road in the bustling suburb of Harburg.

As I began to push on, the route started to take liberties, the path throwing up a short spell of gravel through the trees, maybe a forewarning of what was to come, namely the road out of Sottorf leading into the Buchenwälder im Rosengarten Forest where the road started to climb up a rough stony track, this would be lovely, I thought, if I wasn’t on a loaded bike with road tyres.

Keen to avoid the inevitable spate of punctures, I briefly considered turning back and finding another way, before opting to get off and walk, and hoping that soon the surface would change. Fortunately, on reaching the top of the climb, half a mile later, I was delighted when the route turned left onto a chunky concrete road.

Relieved at finally rejoining the main road once more, I enjoyed the smooth surface, and the shade of the trees, until the cover ended, when I was left ploughing on into the full force of the gusting 30 mile an hour winds, and a fierce sun.

Clouding over, as I reached Hollenstedt, I made for the supermarket just as the rain began, and as I consumed a tub of fresh raspberries in front of the store, a lady pulled up on a very fancy-looking Reise and Muller E-bike, and although I had no barometer at all for what was regarded as a good bike in Germany, I was pretty sure this would be high on the list.

When the lady reappeared from the shop, she gestured that it was good that the rain had stopped, and she was right, I should probably be on my way.

Taking the road to the tiny villlage of Ochtmannsbruch, the road had run out before I was out the other side, first turning to rough old cobble stones, before they in turn gave way to loose stones on a sandy base.

All these factors having added up, the race to not run a Parkrun, then running it anyway, the days of ploughing on into these stiff prevailing winds, the lack of sleep, the heat of the sun, and now being bounced around on these infernal surfaces of varying quality, meant I was undoubtedly in need of a rest. So, having passed through the small town of Heidenau, and on seeing a sign to a nearby campsite, with tent camping round a pretty duck pond, and a Greek restaurant on site, I knew it was time to stop.

Day 2: Praesto – Puttgarden

Distance: 53.46 miles

Time: 5:00

Average Speed: 10.7 mph

Elevation Gain: 1,018 feet

Arriving at Praesto campsite, at 20 past 8 in the evening, I was a little concerned to find that the reception was empty, especially as I’d read a recent review that seemed to suggest that the site looked like it’d been abandoned. It certainly looked a bit dated, but there was a mobile number to ring for check-ins, so I gave it a call. No such number. What was the area code for Denmark? +45? I tried removing the initial zero and adding the +45, still no such number. Yet to be defeated I checked on Google Maps, and got a different number there, with the site number starting +45 instead of 045. This time lucky, a voice appeared on the line, communication was non-existent, but ‘I’ll be right there’ was tagged on at the end.

The site was gorgeous, large pitches – with picnic benches – nestled in amongst the trees. Sadly it looked like it was rarely used anymore, and the facilities had seen better days. Luckily as there weren’t many people around, it gave me ample opportunity to do some battery charging in the kitchen area, and that was a definite advantage.

Making it out of the door this morning, at the slightly more respectable time of 11:30, I popped into Praesto’s cute little town centre, set back from a small marina on the lake. After picking up a few supplies from the Netto supermarket – also one of my preferred suppliers in Iceland – I set off, westwards into the wind.

Back at the 151, I turned south, the brisk crosswind taking the edge off the heat generated by the bright sunshine, the road rising and falling along a constant bearing until Orslev, where the road veered west in the direction of the 3 km Storstrøm Bridge, that connected the tiny island of Masnedo – itself joined to Zealand by a short causeway – with the more substantial Falster, from where I’d catch the ferry to Germany.

I layered up and took on a little fuel, before setting off on the bitterly cold crossing. Glad to make it across, I was less pleased when the road I was expecting to take was closed for extensive roadworks, requiring me to take a substantial dog-legged detour via the small town of Norre Alslev. Stopping for an ice cream from the local petrol station, and sitting a while outside a large church, I readied myself to tack back into the wind once more, rejoining my original course at Oster Kippinge, before crossing a double lift bridge over the Guldborgsund, the small village of Guldborg straddled the river, with harbours on either side, and was part nuclear dystopia, part artists’ haven.

At 5 o’clock, I had my last stop of the day – and Denmark – at a pretty harbour at the end of the canal in Sakskobing. The sun was fighting through the clouds as I sat on the terrace outside Cafe Da-Vinci, waiting for a substantial plate of Nachos that comfortably fuelled me for the final 20 miles of the day.

Arriving into Rodbyhavn at half past 7, I quickly picked up some supplies at Lidl before making for the ferry terminal, and If it hadn’t been for the 48 crossings a day on this route, I might have worried about when the next ferry might be. As it was it was the worst-case scenario, I’d just missed one and the next would not be for another 45 minutes.

Once the gentle one hour crossing was over, I rushed the short distance to the Puttgarden campsite, arriving just before the 10 o’clock check in time, and able to do so over the phone. I was very glad I’d brought a few euros from home when I was required to pay in cash, putting my campsite fee in a postbox by the entrance.

Are you ready for another adventure?

Am I ready for another adventure is perhaps the more pertinent question…

Before I’d left work on Friday I was asked where I was going on holiday, and for once I was at a loss. I was just about to start two weeks of annual leave, and I currently had nothing planned. What I did know was that – having looked at the forecast – staying at home would likely begin with good intentions to cram in all number of hillwalking and cycling trips, and end with me watching Wimbledon while looking forlornly out of the window at the rain.

But, having successfully completed challenging and logistically stressful tours in Iceland and Jordan in 2023 and backed those trips up by visiting Egypt earlier this year, my mental stamina was feeling somewhat depleted, and I was keen to not have to worry about flying home with my bike on this occasion.

So, the hunt was on to find a flight to somewhere that would be within range – after two weeks of cycling – of a ferry back to the UK, and preferably in a country I’d never been to before. Copenhagen was looking like a strong contender, and, when I mentioned my plan to the sales assistant in Halfords – while picking up some bike supplies – and he said that he loved Copenhagen, that he’d been before, and was going back in a couple of months, that was good enough for me.

Then, when he told me that Malmo in Sweden was only half an hour away by train, and I could add a second new country into the equation, that was the deal sealed completely!