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.