2016 European Odyssey Ride – Bruges to Budapest- Read all about it

Thursday 25^th Aug to Sat 27^th August
In Which the Wheels Fall Off Before we Even Start

I know that many people find it hard to understand why a group of sexagenarians and septuagenarians would ever contemplate undertaking a trip across Europe by bicycle. Most people our age are exhausted at the prospect of sleeping in an airconditioned tourist bus as it sweeps along a smooth autobahn, why on earth would we want to pedal bicycles up and down hills, into headwinds, through heatwaves and downpours ? While some might think that we could get enough excitement from a weekly round of bingo or by buying a new non stick frypan from the shopping channel, I am so pleased that we have surrounded ourselves with a wonderful group of like minded lunatics who actually are addicted to this type of travel. 

I first got the idea of such an extended ride about two years ago and then proceeded to put together the detailed itinerary. By early 2015 the plans were ready and I put out an invitation to anyone else silly enough to join me on such a hair brained escapade. I had originally planned on a group of around 15 or so, but was quite overwhelmed when the first twenty places filled as soon as I shared the details. Over the next three days I had another 20 applications and I had no alternative other than to declare the adventure well and truly full. The problem then was to work out how to cater for a group that was twice as large as anticipated. Of course the answer was to simply pass the problem to Jaclyn and Dana at UTRACKS and let them battle with the logistics. It certainly did throw up some challenges, but somehow it looked like the whole thing could be actually do-able after all. 

Over the ensuing eighteen months our participants trained (well some of them did) and prepared for the ride. Whenever we met together the main topic of conversation was what we were going to do on our Grand European Odyssey. Now the time for departure had finally arrived and the dream was about to be turned into a reality. 

Such a venture is always a combination of dozens of individual links which have to work together to make a perfect finished product. Our first such link was “how to get the airport at Melbourne?”. Although we had many options – train, taxi, bus, etc, we decided to opt for the simplest alternative of booking a shuttle bus to collect us from our doorstep and deliver us to Tullamarine. The friendly lady on the phone promised that the driver would be there “right at 2.30 pm”. He actually arrived right on time at around 3 pm and then proceeded to make up lost time by doing his best Fangio impersonation all the way to the airport. A real white knuckle affair of passing everything in sight, bouncing over curbs and   abusing fellow motorists all the way. It was not the perfect way to de stress before a long flight, but we did set a new record time for Pakenham to Tullamarine. 

Since we had now arrived quite early it was too early to check in our luggage. Oh well, a good excuse for the first coffees of the day. We settled down for a coffee and a muffin while we waited for the others to arrive. Although most of our fellow riders were already in Europe, we did have the final six others who would be making the long journey with us. Although Maggie and I were flying with Etihad and the others with Qatar, our two flights were due to depart within a few minutes of each other.

When the  check in desk finally opened Maggie and I were happy to be at the front of a very short queue. We rolled our baggage up to the smiling young man at the desk and handed over our passports.

“Is the plane full?”, I asked.
“No not quite”, he replied. 
“Any vacancies in business class?”, I nonchalantly added.
“Yes a few”.
Well here’s my chance….
“Any chance of an upgrade?”, I asked, trying to look like the feebleminded elderly gent that I was.
“Yes certainly, but it will cost you $2200 each”. 
“Actually we quite enjoy economy class” (lying comes easily to me). 

After a few minutes more smiling and chatting to my new friend we finally negotiated our way into a couple of “extra legroom” seats (for a fee) and then went to meet the others. Within a few minutes our group had grown to 6, but there was no sign of the last two. It looked like the two had gone missing before the ride had even started. As it turned out, that was going to be a portent of sinister events to follow.

We returned to the coffee shop for another coffee. By this time we now had Gael and Gerry and Paul and Jan as well as Maggie and me. It was while we were drinking our coffee that Gerry decided to break something (fortunately it was news, not wind), but unfortunately it was bad news, not good news. 

“ I nearly didn’t make it tonight”, he started. 

I looked at him, waiting for the punchline. There wasn’t one. 

He went on to explain that he had been caught in a flash downpour when driving his car that morning and the resulting flood of water across the road caused him to lose control and head straight for the nearest large tree. All 73 years of his life flashed before his eyes and he could not help but regret the fact that he had already paid for his upcoming holiday that was now going to be cruelly snatched out of his grasp at the final moment. 

The car did hit the tree, the air bags went off, the car wrapped itself into a warm arboreal embrace, but fortunately Gerry’s near death experience was premature. There was no light at the end of the long tunnel, just a sore reminder of the seat belt’s impact across his chest. Apart from shock and sore muscles, he was OK, but certainly not the ideal way to start an extended trip. 

I have to admit that Gerry’s account did unnerve me a little. It sounded like a close call and a reminder that things really can change so dramatically in the blink of an eye. I hoped that all the trip’s mishaps would be over before it began. As it turned out, I was wrong.

After passing through security and immigration very quickly, we met the two missing members of our team and settled down to wait for our respective flights. Maggie and I boarded on time, settled down into our pretend business class seats, stretched our legs out and braced ourselves for the next 13 hours or so. 

Although I could never say that I enjoy these long haul flights, at least the extra legroom seats and the high headroom of the A380 did make the flight bearable. It was only when I switched on my phone at Abu Dhabi that I received a message from Douglas. It was more bad news. Apparently the Qatar flight that they were on was delayed no less than 4 hours at Tullamarine. This meant they arrived so late at Dohar that their connecting flight to Amsterdam had already left, leaving them stranded in the Middle East furnace at Dohar. If they were expecting a sympathetic ear from the people at Qatar they were mistaken. 

What transpired over the next day was more harrowing than an extended stay in a Philippines’ Prison. The details are too horrible to include in this account, suffice to say that the group was divided into two subsets that were sent on a circuitous combination of planes and trains around Europe in an attempt to get them to the starting point at Bruges by the designated starting time. 

In the meantime Maggie and I had arrived at Amsterdam and had staggered to our hotel near Amsterdam Central Station. Our room was smaller than a compact refrigerator and had no air conditioning, but at least it was clean and convenient. After almost 40 hours in transit we could have happily slept on a railroad track. With the unseasonably hot weather we pulled off the heavyweight doonas and threw them to the floor, then climbed onto the top of the mattress and within seconds we were both fast asleep. 

The next thing I knew it was 6 am the following morning. We got up and went for a short walk in the pre-dawn. The view of Amsterdam at this time was not the view that most tourists ever get to see. The streets were covered in garbage, upon which hordes of hungry seagulls were fighting over the best spoils. A few homeless tramps were still straggling around looking for a place to sleep. Although it was a somewhat depressing scene, it did give a fascinating insight into the daily routine of a typical city. 

Within the next hour the garbage collectors went to work, the street sweepers drove along the footpaths and soon the whole scene transformed into the familiar sight that most tourists see every day. We ate our breakfasts, packed our bags and headed off on the short walk back to Central Station. Soon we were on the high speed Thalys Train speeding towards Antwerp at 300 kph.

The plan had been to meet the rest of the team on the deck of the MS Magnifique at 1 pm and I knew it was going to be a close run affair as to whether we would get there on time or not. I could not help but feel a little like Phineus Fogg on his way to meet the deadline after his trip around the world in eighty days. I imagined the clock on the boat ticking off the minutes while we were battling to beat the hour hand to the top of the face. All the while I was worrying about the fate of those who had unfortunately been “lost in transit”.

We changed trains at the impressive Antwerp Central Station and boarded a local train headed to Oostende. Compared to the Thalys it seemed very pedestrian indeed as it rattled and shaked its way from station to station. I looked at my watch, starting to get anxious.. It seemed like it was taking forever, but eventually we pulled into Bruges Station around 12.30pm. We had less than 30 minutes to navigate to the boat. 

“Hurry up Maggie”, I yelled. 
“I need a toilet”, she replied. I rolled my eyes. She went in search of a toilet. I waited (and waited and waited). She eventually reappeared with a sheepish look on her face. “I got lost on the station”, she explained as if it was perfectly normal. People just don’t appreciate that this is the sort of stuff I have to put up with all the time.

We bolted out into the hot afternoon sunshine, dragging our cases up and down footpaths, through parks, over bridges, through traffic and finally found the boat with about 2 minutes to spare. It had been a close call but my reputation for punctuality was intact. Now I could return my attention to the 6  lost sheep. 

The rest of the afternoon was spent welcoming each team member and sharing stories of how tough the journey had been. “Our plane had been violently thrown from side to side and up and down – and then the real turbulence started”, someone shared. “Our flight was the worst in history”, someone else added. “We saw our pilot reattaching the right wing with gaffer tape”, I contributed. There is little doubt that the getting to the start line is by far the worst part of all such trips but, once we get started, the real fun begins. 

Our lost six finally staggered up the gang plank – eyes blank, nerves completely shot, bodily functions all but ceased. They were not a pretty sight. I thought it best not to ask what they thought of Qatar Airlines. 

Although it had been an eventful start to our adventure, at least everyone was finally here. I wondered what the next six weeks would bring. 

After a beautiful dinner we had a late night guided walk around Bruges. I think it was amazing, but I can’t be sure because I was unconscious for most of the time. I stumbled back onto the boat around 11 pm and collapsed onto my bed. It went dark, I fell into a deep sleep. The adventure was finally beginning.

Sunday 28^th Aug 
In Which Bitter Battles Break Out at Breakfast

Our 2016 European Odyssey Ride is actually a four part ride, the first section (or “Prologue”) takes place between Bruges and Amsterdam. Our home for that first section is the aptly named Magnifique, a delightful and character filled timber barge. It can accommodate a maximum of 32 passengers and we have fully booked the entire boat for the Ghostriders. Since most of us have never done this sort of bike/barge option before, the first couple of days are obviously going to constitute something of a learning curve as we adapt to the particular challenges of living aboard a floating hotel.

Our alarm went off at the usual time of 6 am and I was tempted to walk up and down the corridor, banging on all the doors. Surely they should all be awake by then ? Apparently they weren’t. Some seem to be able to sleep for much longer periods of time, thus wasting the best part of the day. 

Breakfast was served at 8 am, an elaborate affair with starched white tablecloths and candelabra on every table (just like breakfast at home). We set down to dine on freshly squeezed orange juice, muesli, fruit, fresh bread, meat and a host of other treats. Ken obviously enjoyed the orange juice too much as he proceeded to fill an enormous beer glass to overflowing, thus almost emptying the entire carafe

“Only one glass”, she reminded Ken.
“Sorry”, Ken replied guiltily.
“And by the way, where did you find that huge glass?”, she added.
“In the big tray, behind the sink”, he answered. 
“They are the unwashed beer glasses from last night”, she informed him.

Oh well we all make mistakes, we are old people after all.

Part of the daily routine is for each person to make up their own picnic lunch from a variety of ingredients. The idea is to fill a bag with your selected choices and bring it with you on the ride. We all happily started filling the bags with bread rolls, fruit, drinks, etc. But that was where the trouble started. 

“I can’t find my lunch”, John started

“Are you sure ?”
“Why has (name removed) got my lunch ?”
“It’s not your lunch, it’s mine”
“(Name removed) has two lunches”
“Your lunch is bigger than mine”
“You didn’t really make an egg sandwich did you?”
“Not in this weather”
“That was your lunch, why are you eating it now?”
“Was that lunch ?”
“Is that your lunch, or mine ?”
“Oh, perhaps that was mine all along, I can’t remember”

And so it went on, and on and on.

Somehow the lunches finally got sorted and we gathered with our bikes for the obligatory photoshoot before the ride itself got under way. We jostled for position alongside the boat, smiled to the camera and were finally ready to go. 

Everything went well for about 200 metres before Douglas (aka Lucky Lee) complained. Surely he couldn’t need coffee already?  The rest of our large group waited while Tom examined Douglas’ bike. Apparently it had “gone all funny” and could not be ridden. A new bike was produced and we were finally underway. 

The first day’s ride was around 60 km and was a perfect introduction to this type of riding. For those who had not ridden the European style of bikes, they took some time to adapt to the upright posture and wide seats. “I’m not riding a ladies bike”, David moaned. “We all are”, I reminded him. 

The biggest danger we faced on these delightful bike paths was the real probability of being skittled by a Flying Flem on a road bike. Since there are no mountains here, the only way the local boy racers can get their thrills is by flying along the narrow bike paths at breakneck speed. Anyone in their way is in real danger of being knocked into the canal alongside. This danger is made worse by the fact that they never use their bells or warnings to let us know that they are racing up from behind. We hoped that they would all be back at work tomorrow and the paths would be much quieter. 

At least the weather was perfect – blue skies, a gentle wind and a temperature in the mid twenties. This was a huge contrast to the appalling day we had on the first day of our 2015 France Ride. 

The main highlight of the day’s ride was the impressive medieval city of Ghent. We had a couple of hours to explore the old city centre I was pleased that they had obviously heard of our arrival in the town and had planned some sort of special celebration and market to welcome us. We certainly didn’t disappoint them and our bright yellow jerseys meant that we easily stood out in the large crowd. 

Maggie and I joined with David and Carol, in search of Belgian chocolates and a cup of famous hot chocolate. We walked and walked but not a hot chocolate in sight. We got tired, but finally found a place promising the best hot chocolate in Ghent. 

We ordered our drinks and sat down to wait. Unfortunately the anticipation was better than the product. The drinks tasted more like hot milk than hot chocolate. It was a big letdown. We also took the opportunity to try out some little cone shaped treats which were being sold all over the city. Apparently they are a famous feature of Ghent and we were told that they tasted like wild berries. 

As we sat lamenting the hot chocolate we passed around the little purple treats, hoping that they would be really delicious. They weren’t. 

“They taste like jam”, I commented
“Jam tastes better than these”, Carol added
“I meant toe jam” I explained. 

We all burst out in hysterical fits of uncontrollable laughter, while everyone stared at the disgusting old people in the chocolate shop. 

“Perhaps we should do a runner”, I suggested
“With these shirts we should be able to blend into the crowd”.

We finally augmented our hot chocolates by adding our chocolates into the hot milk and stirring them in. 

The first day finished with another 10 km to our waiting boat. It was a relief to climb off the broad seat, lock the bikes and prepare for dinner. It really had been a great start and everyone did an amazing job.

Monday August 29th
In Which we Doddle into Dendermonde

The second day of any extended ride can always be a little trying in many ways. Bottoms that were punished by riding on an unfamiliar bike seat for many hours have to again front up (or back up ?) for another dose before the previous damage has healed. Grumpy old men (and even grumpier old women) have to start getting along with other, finally realising that they are going to have to live with them for the next 6 weeks. Some who found the first day’s riding a little harder than they expected may even begin to doubt whether they will have the stamina to complete the ride they have committed to.

My first look out the porthole at 6 am also showed that we would also face a new challenge – teeming rain. In complete contrast to the previous few days, the skies had opened up and the temperature had dropped. The decks were flooded with water. I wondered how the rest would react when they finally emerged from their nocturnal hibernation and saw what they would be confronting.

Like the well disciplined team that we were we formed into a lengthy conga line of riders and began our circuitous route around the Flemish countryside. It is always surprising how the nature of a region can change in such a short distance and already we could see a distinct change between the houses and villages we were riding through compared to those we had seen yesterday. Lisa  also pointed out that the cows had also changed – “These cows have wider bottoms”, she pointed out with a straight face.Such a unique insight !

Somewhere around mid morning we pulled to the side of the road to ooh and ahh in front of a paddock of coloured begonias and roses. I had earlier discovered that, since the gears on our bikes were internal hub gears, we could actually change gears while we were stationary. I decided to put this to the test. I pulled up alongside Dave and asked to check his mounted GPS unit.

You could imagine how disappointed I was when he climbed on the bike and just rode away as if nothing had changed. I assumed that he must have seen my mischief and quickly selected the appropriate gear. It was only when we stopped for lunch about 10 km later that I found that the gear selection was still on 7 !  He hadn’t even noticed. When I asked him he merely said that he “thought his legs were a little tired”. Either he is excessively strong or unbelievably stupid. The reader can decide which is true.

Our destination for the day was the pretty town of Dendermonde and we found our barge moored on the outskirts of the city. Since we arrived around 3 pm we had plenty of time to shower and catch up with overdue laundry. It had been a thoroughly delightful day.

Wednesday August 31st
In Which I Catch a Red Faced Bike Thief Red Handed
There is little doubt that, when planning a six week bike ride across Europe, we will encounter every type of weather along the way. When you are a cyclist you must continue to ride in both fair weather and foul. While some are content to cocoon themselves away in air conditioned buses, the long distance rider has no such defence against the elements. The upside of this is that there really is nothing quite so sublime as cycling alongside a river in the early morning, when the sun is still low in the sky and the air as fresh and clear as crystal.

Once again we awoke to a perfect morning. Although my backside was still very tender from riding on an unfamiliar fat bike seat I was keen to get rolling. I wheeled my bike to a suitable start position and waited while the rest of the peloton formed around me. Soon we were all raring to start. Tom lead out and the rest of the yellow shirted riders lined up behind in a long conga line

The first few kilometres wound back and forth along the meandering river bank. The sunshine gradually dispelled the chill of the evening and all were in very high spirits as we chatted and pedalled our way along.

A short distance along we came to riverside sanctuary where there was a shrine to the Virgin Mary. It was surrounded by a peaceful cool haven of shady trees and flowers. A small booklet allowed riders and walkers to record their prayer requests. Another feature of this lovely place was an outdoor toilet behind a 1 metre high screen. It was possible to take a relaxing “comfort break” sitting here surrounded by the beauty of nature. Rome might have the Sistine Chapel but only Belgium has the Cistern Chapel.

Out lunch stop was a large outdoor rest area where we met quite a number of fellow cyclkists from other bike/barge tours. David was a little appalled when he discovered that the Gent’s toilet was an open urinal where all the passing ladies could walk by only a few feet away from the men passing. The embarrassment was so much that he found that he could not get nature to take its course. In fact his bladder only decided to fully release its contents a couple of minutes after he had hitched up his shorts.Life is like that sometimes.

Our destination for the day was the large city of Antwerp.

Although it does have some older sections, it certainly could not be called a Medieval City. Many of the sections were obviously only constructed quite recently. It appeared to a relatively clean city but I could not help but feel that it was a little too austere for my liking.

We spent a couple of hours exploring the city centre before riding the short distance to our boat which was moored in the nearby huge port. This short ride was made all the more interesting by the fact that it took us directly through the red light district. Even in the mid afternoon all the shop fronts and doorways were occupied by scantily clad young (and some not so young) women trying to sell themselves to passersby. A somewhat sad side to life in the big city.

That evening we all dispersed to various restaurants around the harbour area. It was a beautiful warm evening and a wonderful opportunity to get to know some of our fellow travellers better. It had been a terrific day, even with the less than perfect start.

Wed 31st August
In Which a Mutiny is Planned
Today started with an extended boat ride out of Antwerp, through several locks and alongside massive port facilities. It was fascinating to watch the way that the water is controlled inside the locks in order to raise or lower the ships inside. Since we seldom see such goings on in Australia, several of our participants decided to stay out on the desk so that they wouldn’t miss anything. They didn’t.

While we were safe and dry inside the lounge, Pauline stood proud on the prow – just in time to catch a veritable deluge of slimy green water cascading down from the huge gate. It left her completely saturated, and also left the rest of us in hysterics.

Today was the day that we crossed from Belgium in Holland and our first impressions of the new country were that it was sparsely populated and very waterlogged. And yes, it was also VERY FLAT. No wonder that the Dutch have spent much of their history trying to devise ingenious ways of surviving in such adverse conditions. The entire region is crisscrossed with an elaborate network of canals and drainage channels – and yes there are also large windmills all over the place as well. 

Our first lunch stop in Holland was at a lovely hotel/cafe by the bike path. I almost accidentally left without paying the bill (serves the owner right for trusting the memories of people our age). A little further away we passed through Willemstadt – a prosperous looking town with a marina full of pretentious large boats. It soon became obvious that people who own such vessels never actually sail them – they just sit on the decks drinking and smoking and trying to impress those who pass by. 

It was somewhere along the way that Lynda happened to spy a bike shop

We found our familiar boat waiting for us at the wharf in Dordrecht. In Holland’s wealthy past this town was actually the second largest city, but now its position has been overtaken by Rotterdam. After a superb dinner of salmon and mashed potato we went on an evening walk around the city. It was yet another perfect, warm summer’s evening with the northern constellations twinkling overhead.

It was also about this time that a few of us came to an interesting discovery. Thanks to Europe’s intricate network of rivers and canals, it would actually be possible for the Magnifique to take us all the way to Budapest. All we would have to do is take Captain Roy, throw him overboard and then take control of the boat

It had been yet another wonderful day

Thursday September 1st
In Which we Get Surrounded by Daleks
When you talk about Holland, the first thought that comes into most people’s minds is a windmill. Up until today today the only windmill I had ever seen was in my children’s book “The How and Why Wonder Book of Windmills”. It seems the Dutch have been blessed with such a flat and low lying country that they have to spend almost all of their waking hours trying to preserve their fragile little piece of territory from being completely swamped by a massive inrush of water.

I well remember hearing my grade three teacher telling us about the little boy who saved his nation by sticking his finger in the dike. Of course at the time, I thought it was a true story and I thought that there was a statue somewhere to commemorate his bravery. Now I am shattered to discover that none of it was true.

Although there was apparently no brave boy with his finger in the dike, the rest of his nation did their bit by inventing wind powered pumping machines to keep lifting the water from the low lying fields and depositing into the higher canals.

Our day began with a short trip on the waterbus from Dordrecht to Kinderdijk.This is one region where the landscape is still dotted by rotating windmills, even though nowadays their function has largely been replaced by large electric pumps. It certainly makes an interesting sight seeing these towering structures scattered across the paddocks. I could not help but think that they looked a bit like giant Daleks on the rampage. I could almost hear the dreaded cry of “Kill, Destroy, Annihilate” emanating from the nearby monsters.

We learned that every remaining windmill is actually inhabited by a family – the windmill is their home. The head of the house must be a certified miller in order to legally live there. We were able to examine the insides of a typical windmill and see just how minute the millers must be. After all, the beds are only about 4 foot long. At least each bed was equipped with a compact en suite toilet in the form of a china chamber pot at the foot of each bed. I tried not to think too much about spending the night accompanied by the smell of warm urine, but I suppose it did act like a sort of hot water bottle on the coldest winter evenings.

It is also worth adding that the name “Kinderdijk” comes from the account that a small baby was found floating in a small basket in the floods at this point. Accompanying the baby was a cat that was carefully making sure that the basket did not tip over.

As we were about to head off from Kinderdijk, we discovered that our tally of riders was down by one. A check of names revealed that it was Lynda who was missing. Some time later she was discovered doing some gift shopping in the souvenir shop. With all the sheep finally back in the fold we were able to continue our journey.

It was another perfect day for cycling. The early morning clouds soon disappeared, the sky turned blue and another lovely tail wind blew us along our way to the north. I have to reluctantly take the credit for yet another triumph of impeccable planning.

Morning tea was at the small settlement of Schoonhaven, although the toilets were not kind to any men with bashful bladders as they had large windows just above waist level which meant that you could maintain eye contact with the large group of people who were standing just a few metres outside the toilet, while you were trying hard to get something to take place a little lower down

“When you’re very old and inclined to do things wrong
Remember as you’re pedalling along
Look straight ahead
Or you’ll likely end up dead
And – Always Ride on the Right Side of the Road.
Always ride on the right side of the road, da da da and so on”

About 10 km further on we left the top of the dike to take another toilet break. Maggie and Douglas did not think they needed to stop so decided to conserve energy by stopping on the top  of the dike. Since we could not coax them down we decided to play a cruel trick on them instead.

As we approached Vianen we passed through a succession of settlements where just about everywhere was crisscrossed with drainage trenches, all filled with stagnant green water. Douglas almost got to test it out as a swimming hole as he suddenly took a sharp turn to avoid a collision and headed directly to the putrid water. It could have been nasty, but somehow disaster was narrowly averted.

We finally arrived at the familiar waiting boat at around 5 pm. Our pit stop for the evening was the town of Vianen.

Friday September 2nd
In Which we Arrive at the City of Bikes
The final day of any ride is always tinged with a mixture of elation and sadness. In some ways it is a wonderful feeling to complete the task that we have anticipated for so long, yet at the same time I don’t think that anyone really wants it to finish. We really were blessed with a fantastic group of riders and we all enjoyed (just) about every minute of the ride from Bruges to Amsterdam. For several of our riders it was their first ever adventure with the Ghostriders and I really hope that it won’t be their last. 

This final section was only about 50 km in length so we knew that it would not be too onerous, especially as our familiar tailwind was still blowing steadily to assist us on our way.

A short distance along the way we stopped at a working cheese farm to observe how a small (100 head) operation functions.

Colby did show us all the correct way to slice cheese with a Norwegian cheese slicer. “I want one “, said Maggie. I bought two, expecting to also be given a set of steak knives (but there weren’t any). With the new cheese slicers in my pannier we set off again towards Amsterdam.

One essential feature of all such group rides is the daily appointment of the “Sweeper”. The role of the sweeper is to always ride at the rear of the peloton and take care of any stragglers who have dropped behind or lost their way. You might imagine that the job of the sweeper is not a very popular one, however I have had no problem in getting volunteers. This is probably because being the sweeper also brings with it the privilege of being custodian of one of our CB radios. I am usually the custodian of the other radio and this enables me to be notified of any problem (crash, puncture, photo delay, etc) that may be holding up riders at the rear

When we stopped for morning tea Pascale produced something of a surprise from her pannier. It was one of the CB radios. Now how did that get there ? Of course I first accused the sweeper of having been careless with one of my valuable radios, but the sweeper (Gavan) immediately showed that his radio was still safely in his care. This was starting to get embarrassing. Now where was my CB ? It was no longer in my pannier. How could that happen ? At first I accused Pascale of blatant theft, but I suspect that the real reason was much closer to home. Since all the bikes look very similar, the evidence was pointing to my own personal incompetence. Apparently I had packed the radio into the wrong pannier by mistake at the start of the ride.I grabbed the radio back, packed it into my pannier, and tried to pretend it didn’t happen.

We all knew what a complete nightmare the bicycle menace of Amsterdam constituted, even though Tom had promised that it was “quite easy from this side”. It wasn’t. We soon found ourselves battling with a sea of bicycles and also about 400 runners doing some sort of fun run. I suppose such challenges are one reason why the population of Holland is steadily decreasing.

By a sheer miracle of nature and a temporary suspension of the laws of probability we all avoided fatal accidents and actually arrived at the Magnifique in high spirits, It was time for congratulations and hugs as we parked our bikes for the last time. Thirty riders started and all thirty riders finished this first section. We now have a short break before resuming our Odyssey Ride to Budapest. Some 9 riders will be leaving us in Amsterdam, while others will be joining us for the next leg.

After our final dinner on the boat we climbed aboard a rocking wooden boat for a cruise around the elaborate canal networks of Amsterdam. A gentle rain started falling and I reminded everyone that this was the first rain we had seen since we left Bruges a week earlier.

One of those doing her very first Ghostrider Adventure was Betty Taylor. I had known Betty and her husband Phil for many years and had often invited them to join us on a trip. It was hard to believe that they had finally gotten sick of my perpetual nagging and agreed to come along to shut me up. Betty captivated us all with a beautiful poem that she had written about the trip and the people that she had shared the adventure with.It almost sounded like they were glad they had come along. I never ceased to be amazed at the diverse sets of talents that I find in every group of people.

Thanks so much to all those who shared section one, you are all champions.

Editor’s Postscript – Betty’s Poem

After months of trepidation
The day had finally come
We were to meet on the Magnifique
The promise of lots of fun
A welcome hug from Dennis
Made us feel right at home
I knew at that moment 
Our fate was set in stone
The months of lack of training
The fear of falling off
All melted into oblivion
The barge was far from rough
Candelabras on the tables
White table cloths all pressed 
Exquisite floral crockery
The barge was beautifully dressed
The crew were all so friendly
And work so very hard
Captain Roy at the helm
Ingeborg on the guard
Chef Raymon left quite quickly
Chef Peter saved the day
Jens always in the background
Aida helping without delay
And now we come to our guide Tom
A presence beyond words
His curly hair a relative
Of sheep of many herds
Perhaps that’s why he is so good
At dealing with the group
He rides up front
And we all follow like a little troupe
There’s Lou up front
Who likes to speed
He also likes
A very good feed
And at the back
Our sweepers all
We occasionally need
To give them a call
But fit young Douglas
Manages to ride
Back and forth
To be our guide
And Dennis Milling
Is always there
When turning corners
To make us aware
Of the direction we’re going
The twists and the turns
Managing the traffic
The bollards and curves
Then there’s Pauline and Gonnie
Teaching us their ways
Helping us out
With a Dutch word or phrase
There’s Janna our queen
Always on the move
With endless energy exploring
Wanting to improve
And smiling John Hill
The friendliest of us all
Who says hello to everyone
Even the birds that call
Pascal is always the joker
And Mary’s full of grace
Royce is the quiet thinker
While Peggy sets a cracking pace
Fran is always smiling
And John R loves to sing
Lisa’s always helpful
Carol loves a fling
Maggie’s chief photographer
And Geoff knows how to dance
Gavin’s our belly dancer
And Brigitte was born in France
Diane does lots of research
David’s the butt of jokes
Which he accepts good naturedly
From all the cheeky folks
Ross is one of the quiet ones
Like Ken and Paul and Jan
The sensitive,caring,creative group
A must for any clan
Rhonda loves the bushes
Gael and Gerry are a pair
Lynda loves her windmills
Dennis wants us to be fair
So now the sea of faces
Have all become our friends
So thank you Dennis kindly
We’re sad our trip now ends.
Thanks for a great holiday

Betty and Phillip
Saturday September 3rd
In Which Carol is Saved by a Friendly Teapot

Our first full day in Amsterdam began with our final breakfast on board the Magnifique. Since the boat would be taking on a new batch of passengers within a few hours, it was fascinating to see how the whole transition process took place. While we were in the dining room enjoying our final breakfast, the crew were already stripping the beds and preparing the linen for the next occupants.

At this stage our team was splitting into multiple components. Some would be leaving the Odyssey Ride completely, others would be making their way independently to Donaueschingen and the rest would be scattering to hotels around Amsterdam.

Our preferred hotel was the Amsterdam Hotel Wiechmann, situated right on the intersection of two canals and about 1 km from the city centre. We had last stayed there in October last year and really loved the place.

Since there were 12 of us who would be staying in the same hotel we decided to book three taxis to take us from the boat to the hotel. We gave a final handshake and wave to the Captain and crew and bundled our gear into the taxi for the short ride to the Wiechmann. It cost us each 5 Euro, but it was well worth the money for the saving in energy and shoe leather. I was also not confident that the wheels on some of the bags would withstand the punishment of a 2 km walk on cobblestones.

It is a comforting feeling to arrive at a hotel and find that your booking had been correctly received. It was even more comforting to find that my computer remembered the WiFi password from my previous visit and that we were to stay in the same room we had used last time. It really was like coming home.

After climbing the staircase to our room on the first floor (you do not “walk” up Dutch stairs, you really do climb up them like a ladder) and dropping our luggage in the room, it was time to take a walk around the city.

Thus David, Ross and myself headed back into the centre of the city and the Bodyworlds Museum. On the way there I couldn’t help but hum along to myself that well known song “We’re off to see some Gizzards”. On arrival at the ticket office I presented my senior’s card (actually they took one look at me and took my word for my age) as well as the discount coupon from the hotel and thus secured a rare “double discount”on the entry price. David and Ross, being not so bright, missed out and paid the imbecile’s surcharge instead.

We spent the next hour wandering among the exhibits of preserved bodies doing some amazing things, including two amorous cadavers who were forever preserved in the act of procreation. Other displays clearly demonstrated the damage done to the lungs by smoking and the terrible effects of alcohol on a drinker’s liver. (Judging by the vast amount of smoking and drinking that the Dutch seem to perpetually engage in, it seems that not many of the locals have actually visited this museum).

We had arranged to meet the women back at the hotel at 1 pm and we were there with a few minutes to spare.  The women were nowhere in sight. We waited. And waited. Still no sign. Eventually a phone call from one of them was received. Apparently they had got lost along the way and had no idea of where they were. They told us not to wait any longer. We didn’t. It was time for lunch.

Much later in the afternoon, when the ladies had finally returned, Maggie and I headed once more to the centre of the city. Maggie was determined to see the Banksy Exhibition and I was just as determined to find a quiet, secluded spot to have a cup of coffee. She went to the exhibition, but as for the quiet secluded spot – forget it. We had arrived at Amsterdam right in the middle of some sort of drunken bacchanalia. All over the city were seas of noisy young people, many in fancy dress and ALL in various stages of intoxication. Those that were not busy swallowing beer were swinging their cameras around on the end of long selfie sticks. There was a very real danger of losing an eye (and probably your wallet as well).

Since I am not a fan of crowds of people, this was definitely not my type of scene.

When we arrived back at the hotel the others were still deciding where to go for dinner. It was somewhat of a relief to be able to tell them that we had completed our exercise for the day and would be going to our room instead.

While I love Amsterdam, I definitely could not spend too much time in such a crowded place. When we were here last year it was much later in the year and the crush of tourists had already disappeared. The tragedy is that, for many tourists, this is their only experience of Europe. I was so glad that we will soon be back on the bikes and in the relative solitude of the bike paths and back roads.

The next morning we heard that Carol had gotten a little lost on the way back from dinner. Well actually very lost. She was convinced that the canals had been shifted and wandered around for ages looking for the hotel sign. It was only when she finally saw a line of teapots that she knew she was safely home. It is worth reiterating that the most important thing to always note when in any unfamiliar city is the name and location of your own hotel. Look for distinctive landmarks and features that will guide you back home (or better still – buy a GPS).

Sunday September 4th
In Which Ken Illegally Cooks the Raisins

One of the lovely features of the Wiechmann Hotel is the beautiful little breakfast room, right on the corner of the ground floor. It is a joy to enjoy breakfast each morning while watching the hundreds of bicycles pass by just a couple of metres away on the other side of the window.

Maggie and I had a slight sleep in and were a little late arriving for breakfast. We found the rest of the team were already there, thoroughly enjoying their first meal of the day. The array of foods includes a large toasting machine and an array of breads and other condiments. The only restriction, written in large BOLD PRINT above the toaster is “DO NOT TOAST RAISIN BREAD IN THIS TOASTER”. I had visions of melting raisins falling into the insides of the machine and causing irreparable damage. Although it looked pretty clear to me, you could understand my surprise when I found Ken Lister merrily tucking into a large stack of freshly toasted raisin bread.

He looked slightly guilty when I mentioned that he had broken the first commandment of the breakfast room.

Since we had already had enough of crowds, Maggie and I decided to walk away from the centre of town to the Vondelpark. This is a huge area of parkland, bike paths, shady trees and tea rooms. We had spent time here on our previous visit to Amsterdam and loved the relative quietness of the area. We watched the numerous joggers, walkers and cyclists while we enjoyed a coffee and cake and then walked back towards the nearby Museum Complex. When I saw the huge lines of people waiting for entry, it took all of about 3 seconds to make the decision that I was not that interested in going inside. When I see hundreds of people all heading the same direction, something inside me always makes me want to go in the exact opposite direction. I have never been one to do something, just because everyone else was doing it.

I heard some music coming from nearby and decided to follow that instead. It led me to a blind accordionist who was playing with exquisite skill. It was hard to believe that he was only playing an accordion and not a church organ. This also gave me the ideal chance to empty my wallet of all the coins that had been accumulating there over the past week.

I emptied the entire contents into his tray, pleased that I could now close the flap on my coin compartment.

Near the Rijk Museum is the diamond centre of Amsterdam. The impressive cluster of buildings that constitutes the Coster Diamond Conglomerate is probably a regular visiting location for the rich and famous, but it is also an interesting place to watch diamond cutters actually doing their craft. Another attraction is that it is free to enter (and it is never crowded).

Maggie and I entered through the secure checkpoint and spent some time watching the workers inside. Unfortunately, because it was Sunday, it was a little quiet inside. A snappily dressed salesman sidled up to us and started to do his well rehearsed spiel about the value of diamonds. I nodded my head sagely as he explained colour and facets and gave me a loupe to examine a huge shining diamond. I tried to squint through the thing but couldn’t see a thing. “It’s beautiful”, I lied. “It is for sale”, he explained.”I only like the larger ones”, I answered. He didn’t believe me, but proceeded to usher us through the various parts of the sales rooms, past huge glittering showcases full of overpriced stones.

Somehow I was not really surprised when he quickly lost interest in us and directed us towards the cubic zirconium cheap copies at about 40 Euros each.

Maggie tried on a few rings but quickly discovered that the sizes were only made for very small fingers. It was obvious that the main customers were cashed up Chinese visitors.

It was only when we were out of the building that I noticed that there was a large stain down the front of my trousers from an unfortunate accident that had happened while eating a pizza the previous night. I guessed that probably gave a good indicator that we would not be in the market for any 500,000 Euro sparklers anytime soon.

By this time we were starting to wilt so decided to start to make our way back towards the hotel. We had not gone far before I noticed a well dressed young woman leaning up the side of a doorway. There was something not right about her. She seemed unaware of her surroundings and was simply staring blankly into space. As I watched she slowly slid down the wall and slumped to the ground, surrounded by a puddle of her own vomit. Although some might try to paint a rosy image of legal drug taking and excessive drinking, I think that the reality is less than perfect. I really didn’t know how to respond to this unfortunate young girl, but judging from the indifferent attitudes of the other passers by, I got the impression that such sights are common here.

I was glad to back at the hotel and some quiet time in our room to think about the events of the day. There is no doubt that Amsterdam is a captivating city with some amazing characteristics, but I was ready to move on. I could not help but feel that I wanted to be back on the bike, exploring some quiet bike path, far away from the jostling, selfie taking crowds.

Tomorrow we will be back on bike, but not the type that require pedalling. We have arranged to hire a bunch of Vespa Scooters to explore the countryside on the outskirts of the city.Although none of us have ever ridden a scooter before, we have seen pretty silly looking people riding them, so it can’t be too hard. I will let you know how we go.

Monday September 5th
In Which we Embrace our Dark Sides

I am not sure who came up with the original idea, but I gather it was some sort of collaborative effort between Maggie and Pauline. “Let’s spend a day riding scooters around Amsterdam”, she suggested one night while I was putting this trip together. I have never been game to even hire a bicycle in Amsterdam, so why would anyone in their right mind even consider riding a motor scooter anywhere near the craziest city on earth, especially when none of us had any previous experience on any sort of motor bike?

On the other hand, we have proven numerous times in the past that we are always up for a challenge. After all it was the Ghostriders that climbed to Kopra Ridge in the Himalayas right in the middle of a blizzard and it was the Ghostriders that abseiled from Table Mountain in Capetown in the world’s highest abseil. Prior experience counts for nothing when we all have enough copious amounts of foolhardiness to take on just about anything.

Besides I was already sick of the mad crowds in the centre of the city so it would be great to get away from the crush of tourists and selfie sticks, even if it is was at the peril of our own lives.

Eleven of us packed our helmets and walked to Central Station to catch the regional bus to Landsmeer. This is a small satellite town about 15 minutes from the centre of town. We purchased our tickets (so much easier than our own Myki muddle), boarded the modern bus and were soon deposited in the main street of this lovely little town. Once again the weather was absolutely perfect for this type of activity (blue skies and a temperature in the low 20s).

We found the office of the Scooter Experience and saw a yard packed with dozens of scooters. Maggie was pleased that most of them were red, because apparently everyone knows that the red ones go faster.

Leon, the owner, asked us if we had ever ridden motor scooters before. “Motor what ?” I replied. He looked a little anxious and went on to explain that we need some degree of skill to ride these contraptions. He did not seem impressed by the fact that we were cycling to Budapest and were thus incredible sporting specimens.

We were then forced to fill in pages of legal indemnity forms, none of which we bothered to read any part of. Leon then ushered us out into the yard and made each of us show what we could do. He seemed to be able to quickly decide who could be trusted with his scooters and who couldn’t. Thus three riders had their scooters confiscated and were sent back to the bus station. That reduced our scooter peloton (scootaton?) to 8 riders. Not a promising start, especially when most of us couldn’t remember even how he told us to start the engine.

Since Leon obviously took us for a bunch of deluded seniors he sent his assistant to tag along for the first few km, presumably to call for an ambulance in case of mishap. His apprehension was unfounded as we were soon flying along, pushing the scooters right past their red lines, performing wheelstands and generally hooning around. I quickly decided that this was fun and started challenging Douglas and David to sprints. Although we had been told that these machines were speed limited to 25 kph, we managed to coax them to almost double that.

I can now say that I know what it feels like to be an outlaw bikie.

It was a great feeling to charge along the road in a scooter pack, sowing fear into any pedalling cyclist in our way. When we rode into a small town I have to admit that I was tempted to do something really bad. Perhaps I would pull out a flower from someone’s garden, or manically rev my 50 cc engine in the main street. I even considered getting a small tulip tattoo on my shoulder when I got back to Amsterdam. That would be sure to shock the kids !

About half way through the day’s ride we arrived at the tourist town of Marken. This is a collection of brightly painted houses and a lovely boat harbour. It provided the perfect location for our lunch stop. We were also met by the three others who had been rejected by the scooter wallah. They had caught the bus to the same location and were able to share lunch with us.

After lunch we posed beside our machines for a group photo before roaring out of town with us much speed as we could muster. Ken took on the role of navigator and ride leader and it did not take him long to lose half of our riders on the outskirts of the next town. We doubled back and found them waiting for us on the correct path. We had some serious cruising to do in order to get the scooters back before closing time. Wind up the throttle, tuck in our arms and legs to reduce air resistance and enjoy the thrill of the high speed pursuit.

At times I almost reached 46 kph, it was exhilarating. Douglas was frustrated that his scooter was obviously rubbish and unable to match the sheer power of my machine. I could have told him that he should have got a red one.

Somehow we all managed to get back to the Scooter Experience office without further mischief or mishap and found Leon in the street anxiously looking out for his prodigal scooters. He counted them off and then let out a sigh of relief. “I never doubted you guys for a minute”, he lied.

We caught the bus back to Amsterdam for our final night in this city before resuming our Odyssey to Budapest. Several of us had dropped in a load of dirty laundry at a nearby laundromat. When we collected the washing David was disgusted to find that half of his clothing had been ruined and were covered in huge black stains. It had cost him 12 Euros to have this damage done, so he could be excused for being furious.

Tomorrow morning we check out of the hotel and catch the train to Donaueschingen. The long train ride should give us a great chance to chat and sleep – sounds pretty good to me.

Tuesday September 6th
In Which we Enjoy a First Class Lunch with ICE

Our Bruges to Amsterdam Cycle Adventure was always intended to be the prologue (warm up) to our main event – following the Danube from Donaueschingen to Budapest. It turned out to serve this function perfectly. We could not have wished for better weather or a more memorable guide to usher us along our way.

The first leg of our adventure finished in Amsterdam, the city of higgledy piggledy houses, bicycles, canals and legal drugs. While we were there it was also home to untold thousands of partying uni students, celebrating the start of the University year. Although I do love the unique character of this city, I was getting keen to leave the crowds behind and resume our ride through the quiet paths and back roads of Europe.

In order to get from Amsterdam to Donaueschingen we needed to take three train journeys.

But before we could do that we needed to all get to Amsterdam Central Station. I asked the staff at the Wiechmann Hotel to organise three large taxis for us. We then piled all our suitcases outside the front door to wait for our transport.

Right on time the first Mercedes Benz taxi van arrived and five of our team and a veritable mountain of luggage was jammed in the back. A couple of minutes later a similar van pulled up and the driver smiled and asked us to climb inside. As the first were climbing in, the man from the hotel came out and warned us that this was NOT our taxi. It was just a driver who could smell a good fare. We thanked our hotel man for keeping his eye out for us.

The second taxi arrived a few minutes later (the correct one this time) and we started to climb inside. The driver insisted that we would not need the third taxi because it was bigger on the inside than it was on the outside. Although I doubted how we could possibly all (about 7 of us)get in the one taxi, somehow we managed and we were on our way.

One of the hazards of driving in Amsterdam is that the streets are not only always crammed with cyclists, but they are also only about 3 metres wide.

Any delivery van that stops to drop or collect goods immediately blocks that street completely. We discovered that most deliveries must take place at 9 am as we were forced to make one diversion after another. Fortunately we still arrived at the station with a little time to spare. This was a pity as Maggie and Gael immediately saw an opportunity to go shopping. They disappeared out of sight and left Gerry and I stranded with their luggage.

The last time we were at this station Maggie got lost looking for the toilet, and it soon began to look like this time she had got lost looking for a handbag to buy. All the rest of the team went to the platform to board our train. Gerry and I looked at the clock. No sign of the women. Panic started to rise as the minute hand of the large clock raced around towards departure time. Eventually Maggie appeared out of the crowd with a smile on her face and a large new handbag under her arm. I wondered where she was going to pack that for the rest of our adventure.

Since the price between second class and first class on the ICE trains was not very much I had persuaded the group to let me buy first class tickets for the long journey. “It will be great, lots of room for our luggage and free food”, I promised them. I remembered back to the great first class service we had had on previous Thalys trips and I assumed that the high speed ICE train would give just the same level of service.

It doesn’t.

Although the seats were spacious, there was basically no storage space for luggage apart from the racks high over your head. I wondered how elderly people (a bit like us) would manage to lift heavy luggage without assistance. Somehow we all managed to cram our bags in aisles, racks, doorways, in fact everywhere but the driver’s cockpit and settled down to a hot lunch on the train. We were wasting our time – there was no service. Well that is not quite true we did each get handed a tiny packet about 3 cm square containing 5 sour lollies. That was lunch !  I wondered what those in second class got.

Although I thought we could enjoy the Internet on the train, apparently that wasn’t working either. On top of our disappointment an announcement came over the speakers that the train was already running 10 minutes late after the first hour. Since we only had a 20 minutes gap between trains at Frankfurt, I was starting to worry that we could be in trouble.

The driver finally found the throttle and managed to get the speed up to near 300 kph and we did make up a little of the lost time. We saw little of Frankfurt as we dashed from train to train, although we were by now so hungry that I would have enjoyed a frankfurt.

The second ICE train was not much better than the first. The afternoon tea (or was it dinner) was the same sour lollies. No coffee, not even water. No storage space. But at least it did take us to Offenburg on time. By now we had been in transit for nearly all day and were all getting near the end of our stamina. We still had one train trip to go to take us the final leg to Donaueschingen. This turned out to be the real highlight of the day.

We watched as the train climbed steadily into the Black Forest, passing through a number of long tunnels and crossing a ridge at near 1000 metres above sea level. It was a welcome contrast to the flatness of Holland and Belgium. The rolling high meadows were spotted with grazing cows and steep roofed homes. I thought it looked very Swiss in appearance and could almost imagine Julie Andrews dancing over the mountains singing “The Hills are Alive with the Sound of Music”. It was that type of countryside.

We finally rolled into the small station at Donaueschingen around 6 pm and formed a peloton of luggage pullers to find our way to the Hotel Zum Hirschen. We soon crossed the beautiful Brigach River, one of the two rivers that combine here to form the Danube (“The Donau”). It really felt like our true adventure was about to start.

First impressions of the town were very positive. It was quiet, clean and neat Numerous signs reminded us that most things are “verboten”, the rest are “absoluten verboten”. This was another contrast to the easy going nature of the Netherlands, where just about everything is completely legal.

We found our hotel, checked into our rooms and then looked for a place to eat. Due to some confusion over time zones we somehow ended up going to two different restaurants, but that was OK as everyone was very pleased with their meals.

After a very long day we all headed to bed early. Tomorrow we can explore the town and get to meet the bikes that will carry us to Passau.
Wednesday September 7th
In Which we all get Castigated

There is no doubt that Donaueschingen is a beautiful little town in a beautiful part of the Black Forest, situated at a significant location at the start of the Danube River. Well actually that is not quite true. The actual start of the Danube has been argued over for centuries. The residents higher up the Brigach River maintain that the true start of the Danube is at the start of the Brigach. The residents of Donaueschingen have made an industry out of claiming that the source of the Danube is a little limestone spring in the centre of their town. The argument has never been entirely settled and that is why distances along the Danube are still always measured from the mouth of the river, not from its beginning.

Today was a free day before the riding resumes and we head out from Donaueschingen towards Budapest. We all spent a lazy day wandering the town and exploring walks along the shady riverbanks. This really would be an easy place to fall in love with, however there is one drawback that would have to be addressed. The locals seem to be a rather prickly lot with definite ideas of the correct way of doing just about everything.

This first sign of extreme Germanic discipline occurred at breakfast. Although breakfast was supposed to be from 7 am to 10 am, when Maggie arrived at 9 am, the tables were already stripped bare and the food was securely locked away out of sight. When she commented that she hadn’t eaten yet, it was met with a stern look of disapproval and a reprimand that she “should have come when everyone else did”. They do not tolerate individuals here.

The same theme was repeated in various variations throughout the day and just about everyone in the group ended up incurring someone’s wrath at some time. We really didn’t mean to be such trouble makers, but we are just not used to being regimented like that.

One aspect of the entire trip so far that I need to comment on is the weather. From the moment we landed in Europe we have had absolutely perfect weather every day.  This applied for our entire Bruges to Amsterdam ride and has continued right to the start of our stage 2 in Germany. In fact the forecast for the next few days also appears to promise us the same sort of conditions. This has helped to reinforce my opinion that September is absolutely the best time to travel in Europe.

This morning we also had a chance to try out the bikes that we will be taking as far as Passau. This is always a slightly stressful time as each person assesses whether or not they have been supplied a lemon. I am happy to report that the initial assessment of the bikes was excellent. Not only are they almost new, but they have high quality Schwalbe Marathon tyres, computers, good brakes, great range of gears, good seats and, most important of all, they are all bright red. I am confident that they are ideally suited to the sort of riding that lies ahead of us.

Since we were all supplied with free entry tickets to some impressive sounding exhibition, and since I am never one to pass up a bargain, I found myself walking to an impressive looking 4 story building that apparently housed an “amazing collection”. I handed my free pass to the fraulein at the door and soon discovered that I was the only visitor. After a few minutes I realised why the crowds had stayed away. The collection consisted of  thousands of dusty looking and musty smelling rocks and fossils, hundreds of sad looking stuffed animals and some rather weird “art displays” that most people would have to be paid to go to see. The ancient floors creaked loudly with each footfall and the whole place gave me the urge to leave from the moment I entered. It was not a place that I would recommend as a “must see”, rather I would put it in the “best avoided” category.

Our dinner this evening was at our own hotel. This of course gave us further opportunity to upset the management. They were obviously not pleased to find out that some of our riders had the temerity to be vegetarians (even though they had been notified of this in advance). Apparently it is “absoluten verboten” not to eat meat in this town. There was much rolling of eyes, waving of hands and exclamations of Germanic disgust at this terrible inconvenience, but somehow they managed to reluctantly produce some vegetarian dishes after all.

After dinner we tried to order coffee, but this seemed to also cause problems with the staff, along with just about everything else we did or said.  We were starting to feel like a bunch of naughty schoolchildren who had been kept in after school. When some tried to pay their drinks bill they were told that “they could NOT pay until after coffee”. We couldn’t take a trick. I was almost on the verge of feeling guilty (almost but not quite).

An early night coming up, followed by an early start in the morning.

Thursday September 8th
In Which David Summits the Eiger by Bicycle

Over the past ten years I have had the privilege of experiencing some amazing cycling experiences around the world, however it would be hard to remember any ride that could surpass the natural beauty of today’s ride from Donaueschingen to Beuron. We first assembled the team and bikes in the car park of the Zum Hirschen Hotel to undertake the obligatory group photo. This has become an essential tradition at the start (and end) of every extended ride.

The weather had provided us another perfect cycling day with not a cloud in the sky. The early morning air high in the Black Forest of Bavaria was clear and cool. I could not imagine better conditions for being on a bike.

We first began by riding to the official start of the Danube Bike Path and then followed a lovely shady path right on the bank of the Brigach River.

We started with 26 riders but soon managed to reduce this to a much more manageable size of 12 riders when a large proportion of our peloton missed my signal and headed off in the wrong direction. Our reduced peloton rode on along the riverbank, looking for the confluence of the Brigach and the Breg Rivers. We found it about a kilometre out of town. The other group found it also, except they were on the other side of the river ! It was a bit little the Keystone Cops of Cycling, but somehow we all rejoined together to form a long snaking line of riders as we resumed the ride.

From the moment these two small rivers combine, the river now bears the name the Danube (or Donau). This is the beginning of Europe’s second longest river , winding almost 3000 km on its way to the Black Sea.

I was surprised that the bike path at this point was absolutely smooth bitumen, making for effortless riding. I was also pleasantly surprised with the quality of the bikes we had been supplied. They were comfortable, quiet and well maintained – perfect for this type of cycling.

We maintained a great degree of self control and pelotonic discipline, that is until we reached the first town with a coffee shop.

Although it was still early in the morning, about half the peloton was already ready for a coffee break. The others had a deadline to meet and decided to push on at a punishing pace. “I’ll see you at the hotel”, I shouted as they rode off into the distance, heads down and bums up. That statement turned out to be quite accurate.

Once again our peloton was reduced in size and we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves cruising along, chatting happily and stopping for pictures along the way. In this region the young Danube river does a quite remarkable thing. At certain times of the year the entire flow of the river seeps into the porous limestone rocks and actually flows underground, before gradually re emerging and reforming on the surface several kilometres further on.

We took a short detour from the bike path to walk on the dry bed of the river. Markers on the banks showed the heights the water can reach in times of flood, but today it was completely dry.

We reached the large town of Tuttlingen early in the afternoon and decided it would be a perfect place for lunch. We found a suitable Bakerei and sat in the shade to enjoy lunch and a drink.

When the time came for us to resume the ride, Mary was so keen to get going that she rode away without paying for her coffee. No wonder the Ghostriders have earned such a bad reputation all around the world. As Mary happily made her daring escape, her bill was paid by an anonymous admirer.  At least we didn’t have to worry about being chased by the German police.

A little further on we reached the small Bavarian town of Mulheim. As we were carefully navigating through the town’s streets, I noticed that David was keen to take over a position at the front the group. With a flurry of pedals and a rush of testosterone he was soon disappearing into the distance. The only problem is that it was the wrong distance. Somehow in the excitement he had ignored both his GPS and common sense and started pedalling frantically up the first big hill we had seen so far in Europe. I chased after him, shouting at him to stop, but it was to no avail. He had obviously switched off his hearing aids in order to cut out all distraction in his quest for the polka dok climber’s jersey

After a couple of kilometres of chasing and shouting, I was getting no closer and just making myself hot and bothered. I stopped and turned back. Surely David would realise that he was going the wrong way and that no one was with him ? Actually he didn’t.

I rode back down the hill and told the others the bad news. Carol could not stop laughing. “He does this sort of this all the time”, she explained. We had no alternative other than to mark David as “missing in action” as we resumed the ride along the correct path. In the meantime David was battling up an enormous mountain of Biblical proportions, fearful of taking a backward glance in case he might be overtaken by one of the non existent chasers.

He actually maintained this same strange behaviour all the way to our hotel at Beuron. It was only then that he looked behind to see that he was all alone. The rest of us were having a thoroughly delightful ride through idyllic countryside. We did have a few small undulations, but nothing that could be called a serious climb.

A little further on we met up with Paul and Jan who had abandoned the racing group and decided to enjoy the ride instead. Around 10 km from our hotel we discovered a lovely roadside resting place, serving cold drinks and ice cream. It was an ideal place for another stop. It was here that we met a young Australian family who were riding around Europe with their three young children.

All their bikes were heavily laden with panniers and luggage. The young boy looked at me and boasted “We rode over 100 km yesterday”. I looked back at my own very lightly loaded bike (and at my speedo which only registered around 55 km for the day) and replied “Yes but we are all very old”. Take that youngster.

Gael must have been keen to get to the hotel because she jumped on the first red bike she could find and started pedalling. It might have looked a bit like hers, but it was actually nothing like hers. It was Douglas’ bike. He had no choice but to jump on her bike and chase her down. It’s never easy riding with very old people. They do this sort of thing all the time.

The final section to Beuron was a little challenging with a series of climbs and descents. The late afternoon was growing quite warm and we were starting to feel a bit tired. Beuron is an interesting Monastery town with a huge monastery and a number of other religious buildings. A prominent statue also testified to the fact that it is also a stop on a pilgrim route. Which pilgrim route ? Sorry, I do not know as the writing was all in German.

It had been a glorious start to this leg of the Odyssey ride and has left a very high standard for the rest to live up to.

Friday September 9th
In Which it had been the Best (and Worst) of Days

According to Charles Dickens in the opening to A Tale of Two Cities, it was “the best of times, it was the worst of times”. In a similar fashion, today was the best of days and the worst of days. It certainly started on a positive note with yet another perfectly cloudless sky and pure, cool air as clear as crystal. I went to the bike garage to collect my bike, but no matter how hard I looked, it was not to be found anywhere. I tried not to get anxious, but there was no sign of it. I checked all the bikes again and found one that looked like mine, but it had David’s GPS, water bottle and panniers on it.

The search continued for another 10 minutes, until I decided to use the scientific approach. I knew my bike had a horizontal bar. That eliminated about half the bikes. My bike had a GPS attachment, That eliminated most of the remainder. I looked more closely at David’s Bike. It had cable ties exactly like mine. Hang on a minute – it WAS my bike.

I was not happy. I told David that he was a bare faced thief and took all his junk off. He tried to cover his guilt by looking helpless so I couldn’t stay angry for too long, after all I had already mixed up the bikes on numerous previous occasions.

When we were ready, we cycled back up the hill to the bike path. We looked around. We were two riders short of a peloton. Gael and Gerry were missing. At about this time the two riders in question were just arriving at the bike garage. When they saw the door firmly shut, they congratulated themselves on being the first to come down. In fact they were the last. Of course when they opened the door, they realised their error.

With the peloton finally all present we started off along the trail. The first section of the day’s ride followed the Danube Gorge and we were fenced in on both sides by towering limestone cliffs. Much of the riding was in the shade of the overhanging trees and the cool air was an absolute delight. We crisscrossed back and forth several times and our ride was also punctuated by a series of quite strenuous climbs.I could imagine how different the scene would be when the river was in flood.

I have had the privilege of cycling in some of the best cycling routes around the world, but I would have to say that the region we were riding through over the past couple of days ranks with the very best I have ever experienced.

On numerous occasions we stopped to take in the beauty that was about us on all sides.

By 10 am we had split into two groups again. I was happy to ride with the rear group and just enjoy every sensation, smell and sound along the way. By 11 am we were getting ready for a coffee and started looking for a suitable rest break. We found a lovely looking trackside cafe and settled down to coffee and cheesecake. After a lengthy break and a chat with the proprietor, we resumed our ride.

I had only gone a short distance when I heard the dreaded cry of “Rider down”. We turned back to find that Gael had taken a heavy fall from her bike and was quite stunned. Fortunately the staff at the cafe sprang into action, dressed her wounds and found a place for her to lie down. Of course I was worried about concussion, especially when she was rather confused about what had happened.

Gerry stayed with her and told the rest of us to go ahead. I assumed that they would have chosen to catch the nearby train instead of riding any further. Our reduced peloton was now down to 7 riders as we continued on our way to Sigmaringen and its imposing castle.

That’s where we stopped for lunch. After a brief discussion we quickly decided that none of us really wanted to see the inside of the castle. It really is a case of “if you have seen a couple of dozen musty castles, you have probably seen them all”.

We climbed back on the bikes and continued the short distance to our next stop at Scheer. You can imagine our utter surprise when we discovered that Gael had made a miraculous recovery and she had somehow made it to the hotel before anyone else. Perhaps this was a true miracle of the pilgrim trail after all.

The Hotel Donaublick is a very comfortable hotel, which used to be the original train station. I guess that explains the proximity of the train line and the fact that the trains race by at high speed every 15 minutes. Personally I didn’t mind the trains as they helped to add character to the scene. It had really been a fascinating days of contrasts.

Saturday September 10th
In Which a Great Mystery is Solved

A few years ago Dan Brown confounded the literary world with his convoluted puzzles in the Da Vinci Code, however since the start of this leg of the ride, I have been battling with an infinitely more baffling enigma. When the guide books and vouchers were distributed on Day One, everyone simply helped themselves to whatever they felt they needed. The only trouble was that the final two riders to arrive found that all the books and vouchers had been taken.

Over the next couple of days I exhorted everyone to recheck their books to make sure that they only had the correct number. The problem was that, no matter how hard I tried, the total still came up two short of the size of our peloton. That gave me no other alternative, other than to issue an ultimatum – “At the start of tomorrow’s ride, everyone present their books for inspection”.

I would have to peruse everyone’s books personally to verify that they had the correct quota. It was not a job I was looking forward to, but I knew it had to be done in order to be fair to those who had missed out.

At the appointed hour all the Ghostriders stood in a line with their books, looking like naughty schoolchildren who were ready to receive the cane. As it turned out, the mystery was solved without having to give everyone the third degree. The missing book was discovered (along with another map book), I was able to retrospectively present it to Dennis and Lisa and the ride was able to proceed with one less problem for me to worry about.

Up till now the ride had been reasonably flat, but we now started to encounter the first serious “wobbles” in the elevation profile. When the peloton encountered these challenges, some pressed straight ahead, while others had to take their time and work their way up at their own pace. This meant that the original group was quickly split into two sub groups. Soon those two groups split again into further smaller units. Such a phenomenon is known in cycling parlance as “severe pelotonic disintegration”.

I found myself at the rear with the final bunch, but since I had no great desire to be the first one to reach the hotel, I was happy to roll along, chat and enjoy the company

Such times are really a lovely chance to really get to know your fellow travellers. In Australia, the pressure of deadlines means that we do not often get such opportunities, but here time is of relatively minor importance.

About halfway through the day’s ride we descended around a sweeping bend and found the entire Danube Cycle Path blocked by a massive construction site. There was no obvious way to proceed either through or around the blockage. Sitting on a bench were two young construction workers in hard hats. They observed my confusion, but made no effort to point out the alternative route. I rode back up the hill to the railroad tracks. No way through there either. So back down to the blockage.

By that time more of our small group had arrived on the scene and were bold enough to ask for directions. We were shown to scramble through the long grass (full of poison ivy), squeeze through some tractors, old metal scraps and other assorted construction debris, and then slide down the opposite side. It was hard to believe that the construction company had not been required to post signs and also make a temporary bypass trail for cyclists. This is Germany’s most popular cycle path and it is the life blood to hundreds of businesses right through the country.

Maybe German does not have a word for “detour”.

We were starting to feel hot and hungry by this time and were relieved to finally roll into a likely looking town and look for a cafe for lunch. We reached the beautiful town centre and admired the lovely medieval buildings all around. In the centre of town a wedding was in progress and a large restored Mercedes Benz pulled in to park, ready to collect the wedding party. Just across from the wedding we found a lovely cafe and went inside in search of food.

“Do you sell rolls ?” we asked very slowly
“Yes” was the answer
“Can you make us one ?”
“Yes”, was the answer.

Gerry was so excited at this prospect that he held out his hand to shake. By the look of scorn on the owner’s face, you could be forgiven for thinking that Gerry had offered him a poisonous viper. The handshake was refused but he did make us lovely rolls and coffee. The situation was all the more mysterious as the guy turned out to be an American who had settled in Germany.

Apparently he had also thoroughly adopted the worst of German hospitality as well.

Later in the afternoon we rolled into the Landgasthof Zur Rose. We had experienced a little difficulty finding the place and ended up doing about 2 km extra. Just as we got within the final 100 metres of the hotel, Gerry decided to emulate his wife by hitting the curb and falling off his bike flat on his face. He wiped the blood off his forehead, swore profusely and then assured us that he was OK. Apparently the Driessens do that on almost every ride.

The hotel was a real treat with lovely large rooms and an enormous dining room which they had prepared just for us. Since we still had a couple of hours before dinner, Douglas decided that he had time for a ride into the nearby town of Ehingen, just to have a good look around. Somewhere along the track he became a little disoriented and asked a local German guy for directions to the town. Somehow the meaning of his request must have been lost in translation as his new best friend insisted on personally guiding him – all the way back to the hotel ! Oh well, it was the thought that counts.

That evening we all shared a glorious meal and somehow found our singing voices

.What followed was a raucous time of singing and laughing that we all agreed was a sensational end to an eventful day. Somewhere in the middle of the singing, Douglas, who we had all thought to be a quiet and reserved guy, suddenly burst out into a loud solo rendition of a “I am a pheasant plucker”. Now where did that come from? Travel is like that sometimes.

Tomorrow we ride on into Ulm, the first pit stop on this leg of the ride.

Sunday September 11th
In Which we Stagger into Ulm in Pelotonic Tatters

In the past I have often thought that it would be easier to train chickens to dance Swan Lake than to train a group of Ghostriders to ride with pelotonic restraint and discipline. Since we had the largest group of riders that we have ever taken on on overseas ride, the challenge was always going to be a formidable one.

The early signs were ominous. As the group of riders was gathering ready to start the ride from the car park of the Landgasthof Zur Rose, I was still waiting for the last few riders to arrive when a large bunch were already heading off down the street. I was a little surprised that they were heading in the opposite direction to the trail, but I later heard that someone had found that elusive holy grail known as a “cycling short cut”.

About 10 minutes later, the final riders were ready and so I led them out of the hotel and on towards Ehingen.

We achieved the short and very pleasant ride without incident and rode into the city centre right on 9 am. It was a very quiet Sunday morning and we were welcomed into the town by the loud tolling of the church bells. Such bells are a feature of all travel in Europe and I have to admit that I have really come to love them.

As we rolled slowly down the main street we could see that preparations were underway for a large market. I suspected that, within a few hours, the place would be really rocking. But at this time it was still very, very peaceful. Or at least it was until a large group of rowdy cyclists rolled into town. To my surprise it was the first group of Ghostriders who had followed such a great short cut that it only added about 30 minutes to the ride.

It was about this time that Gael and Gerry made a shocking discovery – they had left their camera in their room at the hotel. We made a couple of calls to the hotel, thanks to Kurt’s translation skills, and soon managed to locate the camera and arrange for it to be added to our bags. I looked around for the first group, but they had already left the town, obviously in search of another short cut.

Some of us had previously decided to stay on the main Danube Bike Path, whereas others wished to do a detour around a slightly longer route.

.This meant that riders were now riding on two different bike paths. As the day progressed, two bunches apparently quickly became three, then four and so on, until we had Ghostriders scattered all the way between Donaueschingen and the Black Sea. It was very similar to a typical Thursday Warby Trail Ride.

I found myself riding with Lou, Rhonda, David, Carol, Gael, Gerry and of course Maggie. “Today will be pretty flat”, I assured them just before we turned a corner and started to climb up a massive hill. “I think this is the only hill”, I added. It wasn’t, but after some hard climbing and a few breaks we did reach the top and then enjoyed a beautiful flat ride along the high meadows. The views down to the valley alongside were sensational and we could see rolling hills and small villages scattered about like dust.

The bike path took us through hundreds of acres of corn and we could tell from the rich aroma in the air, that fertiliser (ie manure) was being used liberally. It was in this section that we came across another Ghostrider mounted on his bike. Apparently he had not been riding fast enough and he and his bike had been enveloped with ivy. We felt it only right to dress him up in a Ghostrider jersey and helmet. In fact I christened him with a good German name – “Helmut”.

It seemed appropriate.

A few kilometres further on we spied a small cluster of buildings. Since we were now ready for morning tea we decided to stop. The place was already occupied by a group of locals who were already drinking themselves into an alcoholic stupor, even though it was only 10.30 in the morning. It looked like it was a regular routine.

We settled down to enjoy some coffee and lovely cake. The large nearby barn was full of large friendly steers who we suspected had no idea of where their next journey was going to take them. While we were seated at our table another proud local farmer arrived with his baby horse in his arms. Apparently it was only 5 days old and he wanted to show it off to his drinking mates. It was a magic moment.

Of course, before we could continue on our way, we had to make use of the cafe’s facilities. When we entered the front door we were amazed to find a luxury hotel, complete with fancy reception desk and some of the most luxurious toilets we had found so far. I wondered who would stay in such a strange location, right in the middle of a smelly farm.

The rural flavour of the ride continued when we found our way blocked by a group of sheep grazing on the bike path.

.”Ewe better watch out”, I shouted to the sheep, in an attempt to get them off the path. The shepherd looked fast asleep (or dead), but his two dogs seemed to know how to do his work for him.

When the bike path skirted a small town that looked like a promising place for lunch, we decided to make a detour and look for a cafe. Although we circled the town, there were no cafes in sight. In fact the whole place looked deserted and locked up. Such towns can be officially classed as “Rubbish Towns”. We turned around and headed back to the bike path.

I had not gone far before I heard the dreaded cry of “Rider Down”. I stopped and turned around to find that Maggie had somehow got her feet confused with her handlebars and had tumbled over into the middle of a busy road. It could have been really nasty, but she was quickly retrieved and the damage examined. Thank goodness for the little first aid kits some of the bikes were fitted with. We proceeded to patch and cover the wounds and succeeded in quickly making both her legs look like the proverbial dog’s breakfast. Rhonda rechristened herself as “Dr Torelli” and seemed pleased with the result.

By this time we gave up on lunch and decided to go straight into Ulm instead.

We did however make time for a special Danube tradition – dipping your feet in the river. When we found a suitable spot we ignored the poison ivy, took off our shoes and cooled down in the water. It really did feel good and served to remind us why we were here in the first place.

We resumed our ride and everything was going so well until our easy progress was blocked by a huge construction zone on the very bridge we had planned to cross. There were no detour signs (remember that it is not in the German vocabulary) and no advice what to do. We had no other alternative than to backtrack and try to figure out another path through to the hotel.

Somehow we found ourselves on a gut busting climb to the very highest part of the city. By this time most of our riders were in tears but we did get a good view of the place from a pigeon’s lofty perspective. I stopped to ask a friendly local woman for help and she assured me that “yes, we were on the right way”. Finally we summited the pass, thankful that it was only covered with a light dusting of snow at this time of the year, and were able to coast virtually all the way to the door of the Maritim Hotel. It was very welcome.

Although the Maritim is a typical 5 star big city hotel and not the type of place that I usually feel at home in, it was nice to collapse in the room and attack the minibar (also something I never usually do).

Over the next couple of hours the remnants of the once proud Ghostriders dribbled into Ulm, mostly in small clumps of hot and tired riders. When the day’s ride was examined in more detail I discovered that there had been at least one puncture, one crash and several mechanical failures. Perhaps we really do need to be more organised for the rest of the ride.
Monday September 12th
In Which we do (almost) Nothing

After several days of riding it is always a welcome relief to enjoy a free day for catching up on routine tasks and for doing a limited amount of routine sightseeing. Most of the team had a comparative sleep in and wandered down to breakfast at around 7.30 am. It is always amazing to see the excessive amount of food this type of hotel puts out each day for breakfast. With the vast arrays of just about about everything from sausage to sauerkraut, cakes and coffee, one can only imagine how much must be thrown into the bins every day.

It was interesting to hear other team members comment that, although it was nice to stay here for a day or two, it would be such a shame to have to spend every night in such an artificial type of environment. We are already looking forward to returning to the smaller, character filled hotels which typify this type of adventure.

Maggie and I headed out towards the old town centre, via the huge Ulm Munster.

This church is famous for having the tallest church steeple in the world. I had already climbed to the top of this tower in my previous visit so had no need or desire to climb up again. Instead we chose to wander the interior and look at the huge stained glass windows instead. It is impossible not to marvel at the engineers and architects who built these places without the aid of computers or power tools.

When we emerged from the church the first rush of tour groups was already filling the courtyard outside the church. The tour leaders were busy regaling their obedient followers with their own version of history and their carefully rehearsed and often repeated jokes. At each joke the groups laughed on cue and then shuffled off to the next stop on the tour. By mid afternoon, when the crush of tourist buses reaches its peak, the whole area is full of tired faces and tourists wearing their “I love Germany” T shirts. I was already looking forward to getting back on the bike and watching my wheels turning over on the secluded back roads of Germany.

Perhaps the very best part of Ulm is the old Fisher’s Quarter, a cluster of brightly painted, topsy turvy houses clustered along the sides of several narrow canals. This is the region that used to house the original fish traders of Ulm.

I was somewhat surprised that I was able to find the little restaurant where we had shared dinner on our 2011 Danube ride. It brought back some great memories.

We then followed the riverbank back to our hotel. In the warm afternoon heat we were both looking forward to a rest and a break from the intense sun. Neither of us felt like yet another restaurant meal, so we joined with David and Carol to find a supermarket. It was great fun to choose a selection of food for a delightful picnic on the banks of the Danube. For us it felt like an absolute gourmet’s delight as we enjoyed our sushi, raspberries, grapes, yoghurt and croissants. Just to add a little extra atmosphere the almost full moon gradually climbed over the tops of the trees on the opposite side of the river. It did not matter one little bit that we were all just seated on a park bench beside the gently flowing Danube, we enjoyed it just as much as if we were dining in some expensive restaurant.

Somehow it just seemed like the perfect way to end a lovely day. It was an experience that I am sure we will all treasure in the years ahead.

Tomorrow we resume our ride as we progress toward our eventual destination of Budapest.

Tuesday September 13th
In Which my Eyes are Dim, I Cannot See

After a day off from the bikes, it was time to get back on two wheels to resume our cycling Odyssey. The Maritim Hotel in Ulm is certainly an impressive establishment, but it really is not my kind of place as we seemed to be swallowed whole by the enormity of it. I could not help but feel we had temporarily lost our individuality and were simply “Room 802”.

On our first night in the hotel we had tossed and turned all night in the heat. I tried turning the air conditioning down to 5C, as low as the dial would go. Then I opened the window as far as I could to let in any breeze. It was still hot. The air conditioning seemed to be about as effective as the gust of air from a butterfly’s wing. We sweltered the whole night long.

The next morning I went down to reception to complain about the poor state of our air conditioner. The smartly dressed young man behind the desk looked at the old man in the crumpled shirt (ie me) and calmly asked “Did you have the window open ?”. “Of course”, I replied. “Well shut it !” he suggested.

How was I to know that a secret switch in the window disabled all air conditioning? I went up and locked the window and, hey presto, the vent started spewing cold air. I wondered why the hotel did not see fit to put a small sticker on each window to advise their guests of this critical fact. I later discovered that most of the others in our group had made the same mistake.

We cleared out our room and carried our cycling gear down to the bike garage. Many of the others were already there, unloading the bikes. I helped by knocking my bike over and very nearly starting a chain reaction to send all the carefully aligned bikes to the ground.

A few minutes later we were all outside on the lawn, getting ready to ride. I donned my helmet and gloves, but where were my cycling glasses ? They were nowhere to be found. Since I hate losing anything, and since they were a brand new pair of Rider glasses that I bought for this trip, I started to get concerned. I retraced my steps to the foyer. I went back up to my room. I searched the garage. No glasses.

By this time the others were getting restless and keen to get underway. I resigned myself to not having the glasses for the rest of the trip. Not a great way to start the rest of the ride. It was at that point Maggie started waving something in front of my face. It was a pair of glasses very much like mine. Hang on, they were mine !  Apparently I had dropped them on the ground about 2 metres away from my bike. Oh well, panic averted. We could start the ride.

The day itself had dawned exactly the same as the previous 16 or so days we had spent in Europe. It looked like it was going to get quite warm, so we were grateful that the ride followed the shady left bank of the Danube as we rode in a long procession out of Ulm. It certainly made for an impressive collection of yellow clad riders, probably one of the largest groups  the locals had seen all season.

About 10 km further on we assembled the riders and gave everyone a chance to select whether they wanted to be a “bolter” or a “dawdler”. This divided the group into two roughly equal bunches. Once again I found myself with the slower group. I had no desire to spend my time on this ride charging along at the expense of missing out on all the wonderful experiences along the way. For me the journey is always so much more important that the destination. I also find that, in warm weather, it is best to ride at a conservative speed to keep the air moving, but to also avoid getting your core temperature overheated. Thus we rolled along at around 15 to 18 kph while the others quickly disappeared out of sight.

The paths often took us into cool shady forests where the air was fresh and clean. In fact it was amazing just how much cooler it was under the tree canopy. This was the sort of riding that everyone adores and is one of the reasons that thousands of people come from all over the world to ride this path.

Our first major milestone of the day was the sizeable town of Gunzburg. We were surprised to find the main street packed with people and cars. We had arrived on market day. That was both a blessing and a  curse. The throng of people made it quite difficult to get a place to sit down for a drink, but the market gave me a great idea.

“Let’s all buy a collection of food so that we can have a picnic”, I suggested. So that’s what we did. Some time later we were laden with bags of raspberries, strawberries, cheese, peaches, fresh bread, drinks, etc. We felt like excited kids as we compared our bulging bags of treats.

But before we could leave the town we had to spend a few minutes viewing the huge church. It looked fairly basic from the outside, but inside it was one of the most ornate churches we had seen anywhere. It had obviously had the benefit of a complete recent makeover as everything looked like brand new. Looking up at the brightly coloured painted murals on the ceiling it was hard to imagine the amount of work that must have gone into building a place like this.

We finally retrieved all the members of the dawdlers and then resumed our ride. We had to continue for an hour or so before we found the ideal place for our picnic, but the wait was well and truly worth it. Deep in the forest we discovered a tree surrounded by a circular seat. It was cool, quiet and secluded. Of course someone had to spoil the atmosphere by raising the topic of ticks and Lyme Disease. It didn’t worry us one bit, we were too busy eating and laughing.

After an extended lunch break we resumed our ride and rolled into the hotel in Dillingen at around 3 pm. All were still feeling good and commented that they had enjoyed a great day on the bikes.

That evening the hotel prepared a delicious meal for us which we enjoyed under the stars. It was our first outdoor meal of the trip and the almost full moon added that extra element of romance to the night. The conversation flowed long after the meal was finished.

Wednesday September 14th
In Which I Make a Lovely Surprise Discovery

I should have known that the day would work out well. After all it is not every day that the very first email you open brings you the incredible news that you have just won 500,000 pounds in the English Lottery. Considering that I didn’t even have a ticket in the lottery, I guessed that it was a true miracle as well as a dose of good fortune.

At least I didn’t have to worry about the weather. We have learned that we are stuck in a meteorological time warp where every day is exactly the same as all the others before it. Of course it was to be another day of unbroken sunshine and a temperature in the mid 20s.

Today’s ride was a modest ride of only 40 km, with no climbs or serious challenges  I assembled the team in the hotel car park at 8.30 am and asked which riders wanted to bolt and which wanted to dawdle

. Once again the riders divided into the same groups as they had for the previous few days. It appears that, once you are a bolter or a dawdler, the condition cannot be treated.

There were also several independently minded riders, who preferred to do the ride as individuals. To avoid confusion I sent off the first group and then waited for quite a while before guiding the team of expert dawdlers down towards the Danube. Since this was to be the 12th cycling day of our adventure, all team members now have cast iron bums and are extremely fit. We were very confident that the day would be an easy one.

The first 10 km of the ride took us right along the shady river bank. Although the track was unsealed and a little loose, it made for exceptional cycling in the cool of the early morning. At one point we approached a group of 4 middle aged walkers. I sounded my bell courteously to warn them our approach. You could imagine my utter surprise as their leader shouted a loud “Achtung” and they all sprang to attention on either side of the track, making a safe path for us to pass. German discipline never ceases to amaze me.

Quite soon we reached the town of Hochstadt, famous for its big castle

. We rode into the Main St of the town only to find that the riders from the first group were still eating their first cream cakes of the day. It was still only 9.30 am and the museum apparently did not open till 2 pm in the afternoon. We thought for about 3 seconds before deciding to give that one a miss.

The famous castle was only a few hundred metres further down the road. Although the original structure had been erected hundreds of years ago, it had been so thoroughly restored (ie rebuilt) that it looked brand new. I was reminded of the famous tale of grandpa’s axe. It had been fitted with 8 new handles and 4 new heads as it was passed down from generation to generation, but it somehow remained a significant family heirloom.

I paid the lady at the front desk 3.5 Euros and entered the building. The inside was painted stark white, and gave almost no indication of the real history of the building. In fact it looked like any other modern art gallery. I found that a little disappointing, but Maggie loved the place. I then set out to explore the building and it did not take long before I fell foul of the first female guide (or was it guard ?). I was instructed that “I was going the wrong way“. Obviously they expected every visitor to walk in step and follow the same path

. That only made me a little more determined to go my own way.

I turned a corner and started up a staircase. A voice came from nowhere and informed me that it was the “wrong staircase”, It was only for going down (even though there was no up or down sign and it looked perfectly safe to me). Then another guide came and asked for my ticket. I didn’t have it – Maggie had it. More demerits scored. “Walk that way”, I was told. Over the next few minutes I was frogmarched from guard to guard like the naughty schoolboy on his way to have a chat to the headmaster.

Eventually I was led to a large auditorium on the top floor. Apparently that is where all well behaved visitors MUST start. There was nothing there, it was a boring room. I made my escape and started doing the unthinkable – exploring on my own. On this level there were a succession of rooms outlining the histories of the major dynasties of Europe. You quickly learned that, for hundreds of years, the royalty of Europe had occupied themselves with arranging marriages, having inbred children, entertaining their mistresses and waging wars against each other.

One large animated display showed the unfolding of the Battle of Blenheim in 1704.

It seemed that, with every toss of the dice, hundreds more young soldiers were slaughtered on the battlefield. All the while the royalty followed the progress of the battle like onlookers at a chess tournament. It somehow made me feel intensely sad as I contemplated the utter stupidity and futility of war. My grandfather, who had fought at Gallipoli and then gone on to help form the Bicycle Battalion in WWI, would only use the term “cannon fodder” whenever I asked him about his wartime experiences. Some things never change.

After an hour in the castle I had seen enough. I emerged into the bright light and waited for the others to join me. I wanted to get moving again.

I was a little apprehensive when the guide notes warned that there were “no food stops between Hochstadt and Donauworth”. Our group of 8 riders headed off, expecting that we would have to ride straight through to the next hotel at Donauworth.  We did pass through a couple of small towns, each with its own big church, but no cafe. I have learned to classify such towns as “rubbish towns”.

It was beginning to look like the notes were correct, and that all the towns would prove to be rubbish towns.

It was only when we reached the third such little town that we stopped to have a look at a small baby horse that was in a front garden. As the women were admiring the cute little thing a huge dog (much bigger than the horse) came bounding out and almost lept over the fence at us. It was enough for us to need a change of riding knicks. We jumped back on the bikes and started moving again. It looked like yet another rubbish town, but it wasn’t.

At this time of the year the apple trees of Germany are all laden with their delicious fruit.The trees that are near the bike path provide free sustenance for hungry cyclists. If you are clever you can even pick a perfect apple, straight from the tree, without even stopping. I introduced this apple eating tradition to our riders. At least we would not go completely hungry.

A little further on I stopped to allow the group to bunch up again and a local chap started to ask where we were going. Since he didn’t speak a single word of English (and probably not much German either)  it was not easy, but somehow we spent some time chatting and learning all about his life story. He was most impressed when he found that we were riding to Budapest. Such a feat was unheard of in that town.

When the group was ready to move on, I decided to do a loop around the block, just to see what was there.

I rode past a funny little place that might have been a shop, however it looked like it had been shut for years. The others followed me down the street and I had a look in the window. To my utter amazement it was open. I was even more amazed when we entered the shop to find that it was actually a very modern bakery, complete with coffee machine, all manner of cakes, bread, sandwiches and drinks. The notes had proven to be completely wrong. This was definitely NOT a rubbish town after all.

We stocked up on food and then settled down in the shady park in the centre of town for a picnic lunch. The day was warming up and it would have been tempting to have a siesta, but we knew that we still had 25 km to go. While we were sitting there Maggie noticed something approaching at very high speed. “Look at that”, she said. I turned just in time to see Janna and Douglas flying through at warp speed. We waved and shouted, but our efforts were in vain. They were obviously riding to meet some sort of deadline. It reminded me of those crowds that line the streets of France to see the Tour de France peloton fly past. In a few seconds it was all over and the two riders were already disappearing in the distance.

“Maybe they didn’t see us”, I explained.

At this time David jumped to his feet and started to dance excitedly.

I wondered why he was so upset that Janna and David did not stop. He then augmented his dance moves by slapping his thighs and swinging his arms. I thought he was practising the famous Bavarian Slap Dance, but his strange behaviour was due to his discovery of some brightly coloured spiky caterpillar, slowly crawling up his ankle. He only settled down when the tiny, harmless creature was rendered inert. Old people are sometimes like that.

After a lengthy break it was time to get back on the bikes again and make our way to the hotel. We knew that, by this time, the first riders would have already checked in, had their showers and read a novel or two. Fortunately the going was pretty easy, the profile was flat and the surface was smooth. The only obstacle was a gentle head wind that served to ensure that we would have to work for every kilometre.

At around 2.10 pm we rolled into Donauworth and rode up the Main St to our hotel. I was quite surprised to see the riders from Group 1 actually riding in the opposite direction, apparently they had been wandering around in the wilderness, looking for the hotel. This surprising turn of events actually meant that the tortoises arrived at the hotel before the hares.Miracles really do still happen after all.

Thursday September 15th
In Which we Enter the House of Frankinstein

In 1818 Mary Shelley scared the wits out of the world with her tale of Dr Frankenstein and his monster. This ghostly horror story was set in the German town of Ingolstadt. Almost two hundred years later, 26 Ghostriders decided to tempt fate by riding into the same city on the 13th day of their ride. Just to tempt fate a little more they also planned it to arrive on the day of the full moon. What could possibly go wrong ? As it turned out, just about everything.

The day certainly started like every previous day of this ride. In fact every day has been so perfect that we are actually starting to tire of sunny days. I told everyone that this ride would be heavily populated with wet days, and so far we were yet to even see a cloud.

Since we knew that the day’s riding was going to be long and that we were going to face some serious climbs, we decided to leave early to get some kilometres done before the worst heat of the day.

We set off in high spirits and soon the road started heading uphill. We clicked down through the gears to find the best rhythm. The peloton stretched into a long column. Cycling is such a joy.

Of course every climb has its rewards, in the form of panoramic views at the summit. This first climb was no exception. We were delighted to find an amazing, fully restored classic mansion at the top. Next to the mansion was a large hotel complex which had tastefully been built in the same style as the original home. We decided to stop and investigate further.

Leaving the bikes and walking through the grounds we gazed at the breathtaking views that stretched out before us. As we looked more closely we could see the place where we had ridden from. A friendly local couple started chatting with us as they were curious about our ride. Like every other person we meet, they were staggered to hear just how far we were riding. They also explained that the whole complex had only been opened a year ago. They were from the nearby town of Neuburg and had decided to stay a night, just to see how good it was. After some time chatting, we bade them farewell and resumed our ride.

If we were expecting a lovely downhill, we were soon disappointed.

What followed was a succession of additional climbs, certainly the toughest of the ride so far. I was steadily working my way up one of these hills, when I looked around to see where Maggie was. There was no sign of her. I thought I had better stop and wait for her to catch up. I figured that she could not be more than a few minutes behind. So I waited. And waited. Still no sign.

A couple of other riders were making their way up the climb. I asked them if they had seen a woman rider with a yellow shirt. Unfortunately they had no English whatsoever, or apparently any other language either for that matter. I decided to ride back down and see where she was. I was starting to get concerned. When there was no sign of her at the bottom of the climb, I tried to ring her phone. It took quite a few attempts to get through, but when I did manage to speak to her, she calmly explained that she was resting with the others at the top of the hill.

“How did you get past me ?” I asked.
“I decided to ride up the road, instead of the bike path”, was her answer. “It was easier”, she explained. Of course she had not given any thought to letting me know where she was going.

That meant I had to turn around and ride up the same hill for a second time.

Not happy,  then over the next hour or so we managed to consecutively lose one rider after another. Sometimes we would be riding alongside, happily chatting and then presto, rider disappeared. It was really creeping me out. We were also searching for a coffee stop for morning tea, but all the coffee stops had apparently disappeared too. Rubbish towns every one.

At one likely looking town we started riding around looking for a cafe. There had to be one somewhere. Paul and Gael went missing. This was feeling like “Picnic at Hanging Rock”, where riders were just vanishing at every turn.

A little later, as I was battling up yet another steep climb, my mobile phone rang. It was Ken calling to say that Liz had “gone missing”. As I struggled to hold the phone and continue riding up the hill, I lost all forward momentum and went off the trail – and straight into a thriving path of stinging nettles. The day was like that. For the next hour hour or so my legs turned bright red and felt like they were being vigorously rubbed with coarse sandpaper.

Fortunately we did eventually retrieve all the missing riders and decided to push on to the next town.

My quest for coffee was finally rewarded when I managed to ask a local guy where coffee was. He gave directions and soon we had found the elusive centre of town, complete with modern coffee shop. A few coffees and cakes later and we were all feeling much better.

After we resumed our ride and when the hills were far behind us, we were riding happily along the top of a dike when David noticed something rolling alongside him. WHen he looked closer he realised it was his own back wheel. It had somehow become disconnected from his bike. He stopped and reattached the errant wheel and we were back on our way again.

Our next challenge occurred when our way was blocked by a HUGE construction site. They appeared to be doing some serious work on the side of the Danube. I looked at the big fence across the path. “Let’s just ignore it”, I suggested. We did. It was too late to consider trying to find some alternative route.

We put on our best “we are just stupid old foreigners” faces and proceeded to walk past all the shocked construction workers, wheeling our bikes. I expected at any moment to be met with a torrent of Germanic abuse, but somehow our ruse worked.

The site went on for a long time, but we were able to proceed unchallenged, until we eventually emerged at the other end,

Soon after we arrived at Neuburg and somehow managed to find the best cafe in town. The food was superb. Perhaps things were finally looking up. After deciding to skip yet another castle tour (well actually I never do any form of organised tour) we continued to Ingolstadt. The final few kilometers were flat and made for exceptional riding.

On the outskirts of town we were overtaken by the bolters’ group, but they were on a mission and quickly rode past on their way to get to town first. They are always like that.

For some reason, in Ingolstadt we were split over two hotels. Apparently one was large and luxurious with modern, cool rooms and a perfect location.  We didn’t get that hotel. We got the other one. Our hotel was easily the worst I have endured for many years. The Pfeffermuhle was an absolute shocker of a place. The rooms were stifling, without even a fan to move the air.

In the evening we opened the window to try to get some relief, but the incessant traffic noise from trucks and would-be racing drivers, continued all night. Just to add some extra “atmosphere” to the place, there was a huge purple light right outside our room which illuminated our room with the same type of light you get in those toilets that try to discourage drug users. Our only other option was to open the room door to the corridor. We did that and found that the hall light flashed off and on every few seconds, alternately making our room light and dark. We were actually glad when the alarm went off. It had been a dreadful night in every possible respect. Frankenstein is apparently still lurking in the streets of Ingolstadt.

Friday September 16th
In Which we Take a Boat Journey

After the terrible night at the Pfeffermuhle Hotel, I was not sorry to see the last of the place. Even the Internet was a proverbial pain in the bum. We all hoped that the next hotel would raise the standard again.

Since the Ghostriders would be starting from two different hotels we had arranged to each leave and then meet at the church in the next town. At risk of sounding repetitive, the weather was perfect, the sky blue and the temperature absolutely ideal for riding.

We arrived at the church in question and waited in the sunshine for the others to arrive. They didn’t. Instead I got a phone call from Douglas, informing me that they had missed the turn and were already several kilometres further ahead. We climbed back on the bikes and enjoyed an easy paced ride of around 55 km.

Much of the ride was along the tops of imposing levy banks. This gave us a clear view of how much higher is the Danube than the surrounding countryside. I tried not to think of what would happen if these banks were ever breached.

A short distance further along we rode past what is apparently the world’s largest gas fired power stations. The three large towers looked impressive and the humming power lines high overhead gave some indication of the massive scale of the operation. I guessed that, if you were interested in such things, you would have stopped for a longer look. We weren’t.

Our morning tea stop was alongside a beautiful small creek and consisted of coffee and cakes from the nearby bakery. With the warm day and the relaxing sounds of the running water, it was very tempting to declare a siesta break, however I decided that we should push on instead

The final 10 km was directly along the banks of the Danube. By this time the river has grown into a mighty waterway – a far cry from the modest stream we had been following since Donaueschingen.Our passage was eventually blocked by the narrowing of the river into the Danube Gorge.

At this point the only way to proceed is to board a large ferry boat to transport us through the gorge to Kelheim. We boarded the boat and I was looking forward to enjoying the short cruise and the views of the towering cliffs on either side. My plans were interrupted by an inquisitive German cyclist who wanted to know everything about our group, where we were going, where we had come from, what sort of bikes we had, how many times we had come to Germany, my mother’s maiden name and my preferred sock colour. He was a friendly guy, who I guessed might have been lonely, so I tried to be informative as possible. But I also wanted to take some pictures and talk to Maggie as well. It was just that, every time I turned around, he was standing about 50 cm behind me. I had not really been looking for a new best friend, but I think I inadvertently found one on that boat.

We reached the lovely town of Kelheim and I almost expected my new friend to follow us to the hotel, however he waved us off and wished us a safe journey. Probably I misjudged him.

Our hotel was right in the middle of the old part of the town and I was relieved to find that the rooms were not only cooler, but they were quiet as well. That was absolute bliss.

The weather forest for tomorrow is for heavy rain, so it appears that the incredible run of fine weather has finally reached an end.

Saturday September 17
In Which the Rains Came (and the Luggage Left)

Logic would clearly advise that it would never be possible to cycle across Europe from Bruges to Budapest without getting at least several wet and/or cold days. Since we arrived in Europe over 3 weeks ago we have been blessed with fine and warm weather every single day. The utter perfection of it all was almost starting to get a little monotonous. although I never thought that I would actually look forward to a bad day.

The long awaited day finally arrived on our ride from Kelheim to Regensburg. I could hear the rain falling outside the window during the night and, by the time our alarm sounded in the morning, it had well and truly settled in to a steady downpour. This then gave us the chance to skip the sunscreen, don the wet weather gear we had bought with us and hope that the panniers were watertight.

A couple of our ladies tried their best to audition for the job of village idiot by visiting the local sports store and purchasing one of the owner’s slowest selling items.

. Carol and Gael emerged from the shop with bright red plastic tea cosies (which the shop owner had told them were “bike helmet covers”). The 10 Euros each that the ladies handed over must have surely sent the shop’s profits skyward.

Thus decked out in rain jackets and silly red hats, our peloton rode out from Kelheim and headed along the Danube riverbank towards Regensburg. The ride was only going to be about 40 km in length and would have been a real doddle, if it hadn’t been for the incessant rain. The gravel path was soon turned to soft mud which splashed up our legs every time we rode through a puddle (which was every few metres). The mud and slop from the path was soon spread liberally over all of us. But did we mind ? Of course not. We were actually enjoying ourselves immensely.

A short distance out of Kelheim we spotted our first huge “pyjama boat”. It was cruising downstream, laden with idle tourists who had come from all over the world to spend their time eating and sleeping across Europe. I was amazed that, at 9.30 am in the morning, virtually all the drapes were drawn and the decks were completely empty. In true pyjama boat style, it was obvious that none of the passengers had yet crawled out of their beds. On the other hand we were riding our bikes through the mud, already soaked to the skin and having to pedal our own way down the river.

So who was having the most fun ? It wasn’t even close. None of us would have swapped places for quids. This was exactly what we had come to do.

About this time, for no apparent reason, Dave had another of his rushes of blood and disappeared into the distance. We were happy to ride along at around 18 kph while he was no longer visible.

We continued in this fashion until we came to the town of Bad Abbach. In German tradition, this does not mean that the town is really bad, it just means that it once had a spa (or bath) there. It was time for morning tea, but still no sign of David. As we were discussing what to do, my phone rang. It was David wondering where we were. Where we were ??? It was he who had bolted, and we now found that he gone along the wrong path. We headed to the coffee shop while David rode back to meet us.

The day was also significant for another reason – it was Carol’s birthday. So at every opportunity we made sure to sing the familiar Happy Birthday song.

This had become something of a tradition last year in France, and I could see no reason why the tradition should not be maintained. David finally rejoined us and we continued on our wet way.

. We soon encountered a large bunch of riders, apparently from the Colombian cycling team since they all looked like Nairo Quintana. Our highly trained elite riders had no trouble in catching the South Americans and passing them with a dismissive wave of the hand. The kilometres were ticking by quickly and soon we were on the outskirts of Regensburg itself.

The final few kilometres into town followed the riverbank and gave a wonderful preview of the town itself. It was a pity that we could not see anything at all, due to wet glasses and eyeballs. Regensburg is regarded as one of the most picturesque towns in Germany. On a better day we would have stopped to admire the scenery, but by now our only thoughts were to reach the hotel.

Of course the problem was that we arrived at the hotel far too early, just in time to see the bolters group approach from the other side. We tramped into the lovely foyer of the Munchner Hof, leaving a trail of mud and water across the floor. I apologised to the staff and expected to be soundly chastised. You can imagine my surprise when they welcomed us to bring our bikes right through the foyer to the rear shed. (They were still cleaning up our mess an hour later).

Fortunately most of the rooms were available, even though  our luggage had not yet arrived. We went to the rooms and kept warm as best we could till the luggage arrived. Around 2.30 pm the familiar van pulled up and started to unload the suitcases. I felt like I was standing at the luggage carousel at the airport, waiting for our familiar cases. My case was unloaded, but no sign of Maggie’s. I asked the driver if there were any more. “No more”, he said.

At that time I was reminded of the familiar words of Corporal Jones of the Dad’s Army TV show. “Don’t panic, DON’T PANIC”. It was too late, Maggie was already panicking.

I rang the previous hotel and was told that the missing case had been left by the driver in the foyer. He must have had a bad day or been distracted, but now he would have to drive all the way back to Kelheim to retrieve the missing case. It eventually arrived safely about 2 hours later.

Unfortunately it still far too wet to explore the town. We are all hoping that the weather will improve in the morning and allow us a couple of hours to see something of its wonderful buildings.

Sunday September 18
In Which we Arrive in Straubing at Market Time

After the deluge we endured the previous, day it was something of a miracle that we could even consider getting back on the bikes again. Fortunately due to very efficient heated towel rails (and a huge electricity bill for the hotel) we all managed to wash and dry our saturated clothes and shoes.

Since the ride to Straubing was only around 50 km and since we are all now getting fitter (and probably fatter) every day, that distance did not constitute a challenge. We decided that we could spend some more time exploring Regensburg, since most of us were too wet to have any chance of doing any sightseeing the previous day.

The breakfast at the Munchner Hof was certainly in a league of its own. Not only was it served in a beautiful timber panelled room with a decorated glass ceiling, but the array of food options was easily the best we have had so far on this trip.

. There were even about 8 different types of juice to select from. I spent some time looking at the long line of bottles before making my final choice – orange juice. I have never laid any claim to being an adventurous diner.

The hotel also offered to make us lunch boxes for only 5 Euro each. This saved us the trouble of wandering the town looking for a supermarket.

I was pleased to see that the rain had temporarily stopped and so we were able to spend some time wandering the impressive city. Apparently Regensburg was never severely damaged during the war and so much of the ancient medieval city has remained intact. It is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Since it was a Sunday morning, it was initially very quiet and we were able to walk the streets alone, however this did not last for long.

By 10 am the streets were starting to fill with numerous groups of tourists from the dreaded tour buses. There was a proliferation of flag carrying guides spouting off their own versions of history. A huge crowd of bored looking individuals had obviously been part of some “Viking Tour” and were slowly shuffling down the narrow streets of the old city.

. Our lovely solitude was gone for ever. Since I am a bit of a mischief I even gave some thought to gathering our small group into a mock tour group so that I could start making up some fantastical stories to yell at them.

My dialogue would have gone something like this:

“This thing is a church, it’s a pretty big one, probably old or maybe it just needs a clean. On the top you can see some big pointy things.It’s got a bell with a giant donger inside. It’s called a brown church. Down there is a big river with lots of water going downstream. It’s got a big bridge over it. There’s probably lots of other stuff here as well, but we don’t have time for any of that, the bus is leaving in 5 minutes”.

I reckon it could have been quite a hoot, but we decided to get on our bikes again and seek the solitude of the bike paths instead. My two basic travel principles are (a) never take a “selfie” and (b) never, ever join a tour group and I wasn’t going to change now.

We returned to the hotel, mounted our bikes and rode out of the city.

. Very soon we were back in the countryside, briskly riding on lovely smooth bitumen. Our first (and only) stop was to be the huge (and incredibly hideous) monument called “Walhalla”. This huge structure was modelled on the Greek Parthenon, however it lacks all the beauty of the original and instead just stands as a sad monument to German aggrandisement. The structure is situated on a prominent location and commands a panoramic view of the surrounding countryside. To get there you can either ride up the road, walk up a back path, or a combination of the two. Several of us rode as far as we could up the gravel path and then climbed the hundreds of stairs to the memorial itself.

The interior of the structure is filled with statues to commemorate famous, high achieving German citizens, however the selection seems to be rather biassed with many deserving candidates having been overlooked for recognition. We decided not to pay the entry fee but to spend our money on a coffee instead.

The ride was then resumed until we stopped about 20 km further on for lunch outside a village church. We opened our boxed lunches, enjoying the rolls, but quickly deciding that the apples were far too tart to eat. We then only had another hour or so of easy cycling till we reached the lovely town of Straubing

. Although there were many nearby black clouds we managed to avoid the deluge and arrive at the hotel still dry.

Due to an incredible dose of good fortune we arrived just in time for the Oktoberfest Market in the centre of town. The whole main street precinct was filled with dozens of stalls and groups of talented singers kept us entertained for ages. A large Bavarian “oom pa pa” band, decked out in national costume, was obviously the main attraction. Thousands of people wandered the streets or sat in the open sipping at huge glasses of frothy beer. We were so fortunate to have arrived at precisely the right time and it gave us a unique insight into this facet of German life.

Just as the market was being dismantled late in the afternoon, the sky blackened and the rain came flooding down again. By this time we were safely in our hotel room and were able to watch the entire spectacle through our window. We are now being told by the weather forecasters that this wet weather could continue tomorrow. Bring it on.

Monday September 19
In Which we Dodge the Drizzle into Deggendorf

I awoke to the sound of steady rain falling outside our hotel room. A glance out the window gave the type of scene that is dreaded by all long distance cyclists – soaked streets and a sea of umbrellas. Although we know that it is unrealistic to expect to ride 2000 km across Europe without getting wet, I do tend to inhabit a fantasy world where the impossible is often highly likely.

I decided to re read the weather forecasts. No joy there. The easiest approach was to do nothing for a couple of hours and see what happened. If the weather improved we would leave immediately, if it got worse we would have another coffee and wait even longer.

While we were waiting for the weather to change it gave me a chance to go down to the basement garage to examine the scene of a serious car accident

. While we were sitting in the foyer yesterday the concierge left his desk in a state of agitation. When I asked what was the matter he replied that an accident had occurred in the basement. When we followed him downstairs we were amazed to see that a new BMW SUV had driven straight into one of the concrete supports at a quite high speed. The car was demolished and the occupants had been transported to hospital. It was hard to understand what had happened, although I suspected that it was another case of the “mixed accelerator with brake pedal” syndrome.

When I re examined the scene the following day I could see that a parallel set of skid marks led across the car park, directly to the concrete post. It appeared that the driver had accidentally floored the accelerator and spun the wheels as he headed for disaster. The car’s back seat had been piled high with luggage, so I felt sorry for the holiday makers who had had their plans so greatly altered by this event. The post showed very little outward evidence of the accident, showing just how unequal the conflict had been.

By 10.30 am the rain had stopped and I tried to round up the riders to make use of whatever respite we had. The difficulty was that most had either switched off their phones or were too deaf to hear them ringing

. We proceeded to search the hotel and town for the missing people and, about 30 mins later, we were finally ready to head off.

Today’s ride was relatively short and mostly on lovely smooth bitumen paths. This meant that we could cruise along happily at quite a good speed. At the town of Bogen we found a beautiful bakery to stock up with supplies for a picnic lunch further down the road. Somehow, although there was rain all around us, we managed to ride in a patch of fine weather. Quite often it works the other way round, where a little rain cloud can follow you all day, even when the rest of the district is in bright sunshine. Fortunately on this day, fate was in our favour and we were able to complete the entire ride without a single drop of rain.

We arrived at Deggendorf around 2.30 pm and decided to have a hot drink before heading to the hotel. When we did finally arrive at the hotel we were met by a confused crush of people at the counter, all jostling for keys at the same time. The hotel staff seemed to just give up and hand out keys to anyone who asked for one (even when they were not part of our group). This meant that, by the time David and Carol reached the desk, they were told that “all the rooms had been allocated”. Obviously they were not happy, nor were they happy when they were offered a single room with an additional fold up bed

. They eventually had to wait quite a while, until a room was vacated by a late checker outer.

Maggie and I were also not impressed when we were sent to a room without windows. Well technically it did have a window, but it looked straight into the beer garden, meaning that both the window and curtains had to be continually closed. Paul and Jan were sent to a room in the crawl space in the ceiling. The only window they had was a small round porthole at floor level. The only way to look out was to lie flat on your stomach and crawl to the edge.

The hotel’s restaurant also had no idea what a vegetarian was. We tried to explain that vegetarians do NOT eat meat soup, but the sour faced waitress insisted that it was very rude and ignorant not to eat the soup that was provided. No choices were offered, just an evil glare and some muttered abuse. Hardly world’s best practise in the hospitality industry. This battle of wits lasted through the whole meal with just about all of us managing to incur her displeasure for some misdemeanour or other. She didn’t even approve of the way we had stacked our empty plates. We were glad to leave the stifling and noisy interior and get some quietness and fresh air outside.

Tomorrow marks the end of section two of our Odyssey ride as we reach the famous 3 rivers city of Passau. Three riders will be leaving us and other 5 riders will be joining for section 3.

Tuesday September 20
In Which we Arrive at the City of the Three Rivers

It really was a brave decision to go ahead with an overseas bike ride with so many strong minded people. Never before had we ever faced the problem of coping with so many riders. Just to give an idea of some of the problems I faced each and every day I thought I would give you an insight into a typical day. Some of the day’s dialogue would go like this…..

“What time is breakfast ?”
“7.00 am”
“No, Dennis said 7.30 am for today”
“When did he say that ?”
“At the briefing last night”
“Was there a briefing ? I went to bed”
“I went to the briefing but could not hear a word”
“I went to the briefing but cannot remember a word he said”
” I want to start now, let’s go”
“But it’s not time yet”
“Time for what ?”
“Which way do we go ?”
“This way”
“No, that way”
“I am ready for coffee”
“I need a toilet”
“I need a toilet too, and I could be some time”
“It’s too early to stop”
“I want a cake”
“C’mon why are we riding so slow?”
“Too fast, I can’t keep up”
“I need to take my coat off I’m hot”
“I need to put my coat on, I’m cold now”
“I need a toilet stop”
“I don’t want to ride with those people”
“I want my own group”
“Group of what ?”
“Why can’t we all be the leader ?”
“Where are we going ?”
“To Budapest”
“I meant, where are we going today?”
“No idea ”
“I want to go shopping”
“What’s keeping them so long”
“They stopped to take some pictures”
“Pictures of what ?”
“Look at that old dog over there”
“Where ? Can I take its picture?”
“I need another toilet stop”
“I want coffee”
“We’ve only been riding for 20 minutes”
“Dennis has no idea, does he?”
“Idea of what ?”
“Who’s Dennis ?”
“Is it time for coffee yet ?”
“I’m not stopping”
“Stopping everyone !”
“Keep right”
“Right of what?”
“Bollard !”
“I am not riding up THAT hill”
“It’s not a hill, don’t stop”
“I’ve just wet myself laughing”
“So have I”
“Are we there yet ?”
“What part of ‘I need a toilet’ didn’t you understand ?”
“Is that our hotel ?”
“That’s a Rathaus”
“Let me get to the desk first, I really need the toilet”

And so it goes on every day. There is one recurring theme that repeats so often, that I am seriously thinking of changing our name from the Ghostriders to the Incontinents.

I once had visions of a cohesive line of yellow clad riders riding in pelotonic precision all the way from Donaueschingen to Passau, but that unrealistic goal quickly became impossible when Carol washed her’s and David’s cycling clothes with her new black underwear and thus ensured that their jerseys would emerge covered in black stains and thus could never be worn again. From that moment everything went rapidly downhill.

And yet, in spite of all the mass confusion, we did all manage to complete our set task. Over 600 km (and about 967 toilet stops) after leaving Donaueschingen we did all somehow arrive safely and triumphantly at Passau. The weather also co operated by providing a dry day, with the clouds breaking up, just in time to let the sun shine through for the final few kilometres.

As we entered the lovely old city and past the famous old decorated clock tower, the massive bells started to announce our arrival with an extended melodious peel. It seemed a fitting way to end such a memorable ride. Our plan had been to ride through to the actual confluence of the Danube and the Inn Rivers and you could imagine my surprise to spot a familiar face in the small crowd that was gathered there. It was none other that John Mudgway. He had no idea that we would be riding into town at just that moment and was just as surprised as us. The real reason he was there was that he was looking for a toilet ! Old people are like that. At least he was able to assist by welcoming our achievement and acting as camera man to take the group photo.

John is one of the five new riders that will be joining us at Passau. We also bade farewell to Lou and Rhonda Torelli and also Mary Jonas, who will be leaving us at this point.It had been great to share stages one and two with them.

Wednesday September 21
In Which we Observe the Pyjama People of Passau

“Do you think you should be going to Europe now ?”
“I would never go to such a place ever”
“I am too afraid to leave my front door, and you should be too”

And so the well meaning advice went when I told people that I was planning on cycling across Europe from Bruges to Budapest. Obviously the media had done a great job in convincing the masses that the whole of Europe was a seething cauldron of suicide bombers, millions of illegal immigrants everywhere you go, and every one of them determined to put a premature end to every Australian cyclist they see.

Now that we have been here for over four weeks, we have yet to see a single person that made us feel afraid

. We have cycled for over a thousand kilometres across a large part of the continent and been amazed every single day at the quietness and tranquility of the place. The interactions we have had with locals have not been because they were trying to murder us, but because they were in awe of what we were doing and wanted to know all about it. If we had listened to all the well-intentioned advice that we received, we would all have missed out on one of the greatest adventures of our lives.

After the first twenty days of cycling, we reached the famous 3 rivers city of Passau. This region is regarded as one of the cradles of civilization and has been continuously inhabited for thousands of years. More recently, Passau has gained notoriety for an entirely different reason. This city is now one of the major centres of the exploding business of using huge boats to daily transport thousands of grey haired tourists along the rivers of Europe.

On our previous trips to Passau we watched the way these boats filled up with their cargos of passengers as they shuffled the short distance from the big tourist buses to their cabins, puffing and panting as they went. At that time I commented that, once on board, they could change into their pyjamas and stay that way for the entire cruise

. Thus we christened these giant boats as “pyjama boats”. The name has stuck ever since.

I have always loved to observe people and see how they go about their lives. It is not possible to spend any time in Passau without seeing these huge crowds of pyjama people jostling for selfie taking positions in front of every decorated building. I quickly came to the conclusion that I would be more in danger of losing an eye on the end of someone’s selfie stick, than being attacked by some crazed terrorist.

These pyjama people wander the city in clumps, each clustered around their allocated tour leader and laughing on queue when the guide tells the same well rehearsed joke they have told hundreds of times before. After they shuffle around for an hour or so, they are herded back to their pens (sorry cabins) and then the boat moves to the next location so that they can do it all again. Of course the real die hard pyjama people seldom venture beyond their cabins or the dining room. In that way they can eat and sleep the entire way around Europe.

Even after only few hours of such “sightseeing” I was already keen to get back on my bike and start riding again.

. The more I do such travel, the more I am convinced that the “real Europe” does not consist of the crowded tourist hot spots, it is not the huge churches and museums, or the castles on the tops of hills. Although these places do give an appreciation for the depth of history, the real Europe is where the real people are. The farmer working his fields, the school children going to school, the mother teaching her 2 year old how to ride a bike, the old people sitting and chatting in the village square, the man sitting with a fishing pole by the river, or the shepherd using his dogs to control his sheep. I also love to watch the swans sliding across the water, the dog sitting obediently by their owner in the little cafe, the geese migrating south for the coming winter or the little squirrels running across the road in front of us. On the nearby hills the onset of autumn is already starting to change the colour pallet of the forests. In a few months these same hills will be blanketed in a carpet of snow and the cycle of life will continue to turn.

Yes, there is no doubt that Passau is an impressive place, but somehow I cannot escape the feeling that it has been a little too restored. The buildings are just a little too immaculate. I would not mind seeing even a little peeling paint or a cracked wall somewhere to remind us of just how old these buildings really are. Perhaps that is one of the differences between Germany and France. In France they don’t seem to be afraid to show a little wear and tear on their historic buildings.

Tomorrow we resume our ride towards Budapest and early in the day we will be crossing the border in Austria, the fourth country we will be traversing on our journey. Our time on the German Danube is almost complete.

Thursday September 22
In Which we Cycle the Schlogener

How the hell would I know ? I am just an old man from the other side of the world. We don’t have stupid roads like this Australia.