Tag: cycle

Day 7: Bremen – Thülsfelde

Distance: 48.56 miles

Time: 4:12:09

Average Speed: 11.6 mph

Elevation Gain: 526 feet

I retraced my steps back along the mono-blocked cycle path from the night before, rounding the medieval moat, and making a beeline straight for the centre of the old town at the historic Marktplatz, framed by the 11th century St Peter’s Cathedral, and the 900 year old City Hall – complete with a statue to the Brothers Grimm’s ‘Town Musicians of Bremen’, at the front.

Although it was already after 1 PM, I needed to make an early stop, my power bank had been charging for most of the previous evening, but when I’d plugged my phone into it as I set off, it was completely flat, and my phone didn’t have enough charge for the day. Luckily there was a branch of the new-age traveller’s number one friend just off the square, and indeed I could charge my phone, watch my bike, and see a bit of the cathedral, as I tucked into my McDonald’s Big Tasty burger. Multi-tasking.

The time trial was already on, it was now quarter to three in the afternoon, and I’d hoped to manage, at least as far as Garrel, 40 miles away, and then find a campsite after that – unfortunately the going out of town was slow and laborious, the cycle lane being a narrow section of pavement, and regularly being interrupted by road crossings, until it was time to cut cross country in the direction of Mittelshuchting.

Back on the straight and narrow of a roadside cycle path, I worked my way along to Delmenhorst, pleased to be keeping my speed up over 11 mph, into the strong gusts.

On entering the pedestrianised centre of the town, I internally debated yet again about whether the sign meant the area was to be bike frei, or whether bikes were frei to use it, I think it means they’re free to use it, which makes little sense to me. Neither did the very rudimentary treadmill halfway down the street.

Powering on into the wind, as best I could, through tiny red brick villages, between fields of crops on tree-lined country lanes, it was all going so well, until I ground to a halt, quite literally, tyre bogged down in an ocean of soft powder-dry sand.

Having raced for half of the afternoon to reach the – seemingly – quite pleasant town of Garrel, I headed straight through and out the other side, heading for a glut of campsites near the vast Thülsfelde reservoir, and hoping that one had a late opening reception.

After the now all too usual, 5 mile sprint on rough tracks through a woodland, I reached the first campsite, Campingplatz Wilken, at 7:02, just as the owner was packing up. It seemed I’d found home for another night.

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 4: Neustadt – Hamburg

Distance: 65.81 miles

Time: 6:21:25

Average Speed: 10.4 mph

Elevation Gain: 1,582 feet

I’d lucked out with the Campingplatz Südstrand campsite. I’d only ended up there because its reception was still open, but the facilities had been excellent, and although I was initially concerned that I hadn’t paid up front – as I’d heard that German campsites were expensive, and there was a card payment system for using the showers and cooking facilities – but ultimately the 22 euro cost seemed reasonable, especially seeing as I’d had two very warm showers, and cooked up industrial quantities of Lidl risotto on the hob.

With a Saturday morning Parkrun at stake, and over 60 miles to go, I was underway by half past 11, then, after pedalling along to Neustadt’s bustling harbour area, I was drawn in by the lure of the area’s culinary speciality, fischbrotchen, varieties of sandwich containing fish, sauces, pickles, and salad leaves.

Bamboozled by the menu, I opted to play it safe with my opening gambit, Raucherlachs mit honig, or smoked salmon with a honey and mustard dressing to you and I. First go, great success, so I upped the ante, selecting Bismarck – or pickled herring – for the second attempt, the pickling was pleasant and I was kind of enjoying it, until I ran out of bread, and my appetite for the slippery raw piece of fish dwindled.

Continuing along the main road, through Neustadt, I soon swung back off towards the coast, rejoining it at the sleepy seaside town of Sierksdorf, where, seeing a bike maintenance station beside the promenade, it reminded me I’d been meaning to pump up my tyres, instantly regretting that recollection when the pump let the air out instead of putting it in.

A sudden shower struck just as I reached the other end of the strip at Scharbeutz, sending me rushing for cover at a handily placed bakery, picking up a delicious apple crumble cake for later in the day.

Turning back inland, I was excited to be greeted by 3 bikepackers as we rode past each other on a narrow country lane. Perhaps not too unusual an occurrence on previous trips, but on this one my attempts at contact with my fellow cycle-touring brethren have usually been spurned. Perhaps in the homeland of the pannier-making giants of Ortlieb and Vaude, it’s just too common a thing to do.

Finally, reaching the once Hanseatic city-state, now UNESCO World Heritage Site of Lübeck, some 20 miles in, I was confronted by a row of fine medieval town houses across a moat, with the spires of 5 large cathedrals piercing the sky beyond, offering a tantalising glimpse of this special city, famed for its gothic red-brick architecture, and its marzipan.

Forging my way through the heart of the old town, I passed by the monumental Marienkirche – some 800 years old and restored after heavy bombing during the Second World War – before stumbling upon the old Marktplatz town square – in my bid to find a good vantage point for the tightly hemmed in church.

After an ice cream for the road and taking care to charge my light batteries for later, I pushed through to the other side of town, finding myself on a rough canal path for a short spell, before regaining the road, just in time to detour around a couple of significant road closures where improvement works were being carried out.

Having left the Lübeck city limits, I wended my way along country lanes for a time, before starting to worry about the lack of provisions I was carrying as I passed through the tiny hamlet of Labenz, and was instantly drawn to a vending machine sitting on the road outside a guest house, before then stopping for dinner at a Turkish takeaway in Sandesneben, anyway.

Just after leaving the takeaway there was a commotion from inside, Spain had just scored, putting my current hosts, Germany, at risk of going out at the Quarter final stage of their home European Championships. Some time later, as I continued my journey, through Lutjensee – along Hamburger Strasse – there was a loud screaming from multiple directions all at once, it could only mean that Germany had equalised, but as I started the long trudge through Hamburg the cues seemed to be a little more ambiguous after that, until finally they were out.

I had been grinding away for an hour or more through Germany’s second largest city when I finally reached the Motel One hotel that I had booked for the evening. Or had I booked? The telltale Expedia booking email I was expecting to find was absent, and now the hotel was sold out. Fortunately I’d also had my eye on a Super 8 by Wyndham hotel a short distance away, and they still had rooms, so, ensuring I’d booked properly this time, I raced on over, delighted I’d made it. It was almost 10 o’clock, but I was in Hamburg, and tomorrow was Parkrun day.

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.