Chapter 6: Following the Danube - Downhill All the Way!

After leaving Danaueschingen (the official starting point) the Danube quickly became a small river, but not big enough to support boat traffic. This was taken our second day.

We rode 419 miles over 11 days. Rob likes to tell people that it was all downhill, since we were following the flow of the river.  But we passed many people going in the other direction so it couldn't have been that much downhill. Really, it was mostly just flat, easy riding. Most days we hardly broke a sweat and we quickly mastered the few hills that came our way.

This picture was taken our second day out. Notice how flat the bike path is. This was not a challenging ride. We were happy just toodling along.



We did hit one short steep hill that brought us to this lovely rest stop put there just for bicyclists on the outskirts of a little town. We got off our bikes and pushed them up the last bit. (We have no pride.) There was a shelter with a picnic table, maps, and a log book. I glanced through it to see if any Americans had been there. And the only American entry was by someone from Los Angeles complaining about the hill. They had written something like, "Why would you put such a steep hill on a bicycle route for tourists?" I thought, "How pompous you Americans are that you think a hill can be erased just for you."


These are a couple closeups of the rest area. It felt very welcoming. In fact, during the entire trip we felt welcomed as cyclists (except when the people blocked me from getting off the train). 




If you look carefully you'll see a bit of wildlife hiding in the grass on the island in the middle of the river. This picture was taken on day 3. You won't see this part of the Danube on your Viking River Cruise.


But later that afternoon the river had become a significant presence. We stayed overnight in Riedlingen, a small city across the river from the bike path.

On day 6 the river became large enough to support a local yacht club.

On Day 8, we came to the Weltenburg Abbey, about 250 miles from the start of the Danube. From the abbey our Danube Bike Trail guide book said: "The official bicycle route takes a steep and busy road up the mountain and then follows a rough forest track, bypassing much of the dramatic scenery as the Danube winds its way through the Franconian Jura. We therefore recommend you board an excursion boat or wooden barge at Weltenburg and enjoy the views from the water on the 5 km. trip to Kelheim." 

The excursion boat makes its way through the Danube Gorge to the Weltenburg Benedictine Abbey. 


We opted for one of the wooden barges. 
Our bicycles fit easily on board.


That's the Weltenburg Abbey in the background.


A view of the Danube from a bridge in Regensberg. Now we're getting into serious river cruising territory. Still day 8.
Day 10, we took a ferry across the river in Niederalteich.
Day 11, just before Passau. The Danube's gotten pretty big, big enough for plenty of river cruise ships to take over the riverfront.

Passau is located near the Austrian and Czech borders, at the confluence of three rivers, the Danube, Inn, and Ilz. This was the end of our journey.

I suppose a professional photographer could take pictures that would turn the Danube that we rode along into a much more majestic and picturesque river, but in the end, from my point of view, it was just a river. So what makes it such a big deal? A big enough deal for all the river cruises that make their way up and down its waters, and all the bicyclists that ride along its shores? 

Whenever we seek a new adventure we look for a compass, a direction to guide our wanderings. The Appalachian Trail provides hikers with an historic trail over a couple thousand miles. Mountain climbers in Colorado check off the list of fourteen thousand foot peaks. Rivers serve tourists with a means of luxury travel where they can see many cities without having to pack their bags every morning. And the Danube, with its maintained bike route along its shores, gave us a compass for exploring the peaceful beauty of the German culture and countryside.


Chapter 5: Forty Miles a Day?



"If you have a weakness for romantic old cities, you should find the strength to pedal up the steep but short road to the upper city [of Muhlheim an der Donau]." This is a quote from our Danube Bike Trail guide. Of course we climbed the hill and enjoyed a meander through the town. 

40 miles a day? It’s hardly worth getting on a bicycle for such a short ride. Or so I thought when a neighbor told me she and her husband were going on a bicycle tour in Europe and that’s how many daily miles they would average. They even had their gear carried for them. I tried not to turn up my snobby nose when I said, “Well, I guess you’ll have lots of time to sightsee.”

That was before last year when Rob had to slow down with his pulmonary hypertension and we tried a tour where we averaged 40 miles a day for 25 days. It turned out okay. We had time to get a leisurely start to each day, visit with our Warm Showers hosts or other folks we met along the way, wander through art museums, stop for a swim now and then, and find refuge from the ever-present rain. In the end we still covered a thousand miles, which sounds rather respectable when we talk about it.

But when we decided to take eleven days to ride along the German Danube, a distance of about 360 miles, I still wasn’t sure I wouldn’t get bored. I didn’t. Now, as I am looking back over the trip I am wondering why it was so memorable, even as it was unexciting.

An art colleague has often suggested that I bring along sketching materials on my bicycle trips. “When you’re taking a break, just pull out your sketch pad,” she says.


I explain to her that I’ve tried it, and it doesn’t work.  It’s a puzzle, even to me. Where does the time go, especially when we’re only riding 40 miles a day? We really don’t do that much sightseeing. In Germany, not speaking the language, it made no sense to go to museums in the small towns and cities we passed through.

Mostly when we stop, in a town or alongside the road, the first priority is to locate a restroom or a private hideaway in the woods. Then I'll search through the pack on top of my bike rack where we store our food provisions. Is it time for lunch or just a snack? We'll settle down on a bench, or a stone wall, or a patch of grass, eat a piece of fruit and some nuts, spread some peanut butter on a graham cracker, or slice some cheese to have with crackers. Half an hour, 40 minutes go by. I might write in my journal. I’ll pull out our map, look at where we’ve been and where we’re going. Do we continue with our current plan or make a new one? Rob and I might talk, about nothing much. “Did you see that black swan?” or “I wonder what that big structure in the river was.” Rob likes to just sit and look around. If we’re sitting in a grassy park, and the sun is shining, I’ll lie down on the grass and take a nap. If we’re in the middle of a town, we’ll admire the architecture, watch people go by. Before getting back on our bikes we'll put away any food we haven't eaten and check our water supply, maybe revisit the restroom. We're not often in a hurry. On our bicycle trips time is plentiful.

I’m a list keeper. I always have a list going, with all the chores I have to get done, errands I need to run, things I want to do – rake leaves, go for a run, put up deer fencing, call the pest control company, go to Trader Joes and the dump, write our Christmas letter, practice piano, make dinner. My list usually has about 20 items on it and there is never a prayer that I will get everything on it done in a day. Or a week. In my heart I know that, but still, at the end of the day I don’t congratulate myself for everything I've crossed off, but rather chastise myself for all that I have yet to do. So, after dinner, when most people will sit down with a beer and enjoy watching television or relaxing with a good book or jigsaw puzzle, I’m looking at my list and figuring what I can still complete when I’m exhausted – pay the bills, research investments, clean up my email.

When Rob and I get on our bicycles and set off on an adventure I leave my list behind. Life becomes simpler. Make sure we have enough food for the day, discuss our route, have some idea where we’ll spend the night, get on our bikes, and ride. I keep my eyes open and constantly look around me. I don't want to miss anything that Rob will mention when we stop - did you see that fox? - or a place to swim, or a car about to pull out in front of me.

Our itinerary is always flexible. If we come across a beautiful campground early in the afternoon, we’ll stop for the day. And on this trip along the Danube, it wasn’t beautiful campgrounds we came across but picturesque towns and cities. Most aren’t in any of the tour books, only in our bicycling Danube guide. What a treat it was to discover these gems without having to share them with hordes of other tourists. I often thought that these were treasures that tour groups and people driving the country in rented cars passed right by. So we spent a lot of time pedaling into these beautiful towns, riding or walking our bikes up and down the cobblestone streets, soaking up the centuries-old atmosphere.  I was never bored.



As we were standing by this beautiful half-timbered house in Muhlheim an der Donau and looking out over the valley below, a gentleman came outside. We tried to talk to him but when he realized we only spoke English - which he spoke sparingly - he called for his friend to come outside. She spoke English fluently and gave us a short tour of the town, pointing out the several-hundred-year-old rathaus (town hall) and an old castle that is still privately owned.

Straight ahead is the rathaus (town hall).

The friend was happy to practice her English on us. She needed to know "business English" for her job. She told us that her mother had ridden the Danube and thought that the Germany section, the one we were riding, was the prettiest. I don't know if that is true, but we were happy to hear it. 




We’re reading a lot today about the importance of being mindful, or living in the moment. Be in the present, not the past or the future. That is certainly one of the joys of bicycle touring for me. No lists. No schedule. If we don’t ride as far as we might have planned, it’s usually because something better came our way and we’ll get there tomorrow anyway. Or maybe not if a better choice comes along.

Chapter 4: Germany's Privatized Rail System


Friday, June 15 (continued):

When Rob caught up to me, I said, “We can make the next train." Just inside the station I took a quick turn, pointed down a flight of stairs and said, "It's that way.” 

Rob went down carrying his bike and when I picked mine up the pump fell off and I couldn’t hold both the bike and the pump but a nun picked up my pump and carried it down the stairs for me while I lifted my bike. It was heavy and awkward with two full panniers, a rear rack bag, and a handlebar pack. Once at the bottom I thanked the nun, grabbed my pump and raced after Rob through a tunnel and up another flight of stairs. This one thankfully had a narrow ramp I could wheel my bike up. But to get on the train I had to lift my bike up three high steps. Rob got on first and reached for my bike.

We were among the first to board. We parked our bikes next to each other and settled into a couple seats nearby. My heart was racing at 200 beats per minute. I let out a sigh. “That was a nightmare.”

Rob said, “I never felt so alone.”

“Thank goodness there was another train so soon. And that you knew to get on it.”

While our panicked bodies settled down more bicycles came on board. The porter told us to remove our panniers so that the bikes could squeeze closer together. To do that we had to also take off the stuff on top of the rear racks – tent, sleeping bag, rack bag – not a trivial endeavor. We threw it all into the overhead bin with hopes that when we disembarked we would not forget anything.

Sitting near us was a couple about our age, finishing up their own bike tour and heading home to France. I dug out my limited knowledge of French to try and have a conversation with them. They had an equally limited knowledge of English and none of German. Also nearby was a young man who seemed to know English, French, and German, and was friendly enough to provide the opportunity for some civil discourse between the five of us as the train proceeded along its way.

The ride to Donaueschingen was scheduled to take about two hours with the route running along the course of the Danube. Occasionally I’d look out the window and see bicyclists off in the distance riding through pastures and fields of corn and thought, “That will be us soon.”

After about an hour the train stopped at what must have been a connecting stop. People came on with bicycles, children came on with parents, and a group of noisy young adults took over a section of seats. The doors closed while the new passengers stowed their luggage and settled down, and the train sat, as though trying to catch its breath. Then the engine shut down and the sound of everyone talking was suddenly very loud. Gradually the conversations died out as the talkers became aware of the silence surrounding them. After a few seconds, one person and then another started talking again, softly this time. 

A male voice came on over the loudspeaker. It was all in German so Rob and I were clueless but then people began gathering up their belongings and the doors opened and  and everyone exited the train. So we did, too, but what a pain that was, pulling all our stuff out of the overhead bins, putting it all back on our bikes., lifting them down the stairs of the train, following the crowd down a flight of stairs and up another one to wait for a new train on another track. I was extraordinarily thankful that we had made a conscious effort to travel light this trip and left our front panniers at home.

During all the commotion our young tri-lingual translator told us that the train we’d been on had broken down. After about half an hour a new train pulled up and everyone piled on and we were once again on our way to Donaueschingen. Or so we thought. Several stops later, after another long announcement, everyone once again got off and, once again, like cattle, we followed. Our translator told us that they’d said the train would go all the way to Donaueschingen but somewhere along the way that plan got changed. I looked at our Danube guide book and said to Rob, “It looks like we’re only about 15 kilometers from Donaueschingen. We could just bike it.”

I was eager to start riding. The original schedule had us arriving at our destination at 2:30 in the afternoon, which would have given us plenty of time to get in some miles before dark. All this delay was trashing that plan.

“No, let’s wait.”

I watched the French couple leave the station with their bikes. I wondered where they were going.

When the next train arrived I asked several people if it would stop in Donaueschingen. Even after they said yes I still found a porter to ask. My nightmare now was that we’d get on an express train that would speed on past our stop.

But this would be our last train ride. We finally arrived in Donaueschingen, only an hour behind schedule, around 3:30. 

[Several days later when we had the opportunity to talk with a young German who was fluent in English, we learned that the nation's rail system has been going downhill over the past several years, since it has been privatized.]

Before getting started, we still needed to find a bike shop to get my front brake adjusted. I knew there were a few in town. At the first one there was only one person, a woman who didn’t speak English and didn’t want to work on my bike. But she sent us to another shop and the fellow fixed my brake with just a turn of one screw.


We easily found the spring that marks the beginning of the Danube, called the Donau in Germany. That's Rob in the red.


Then we were on our way.
They call it the "Blue Danube" but we thought it was green.