Cycling in Shorts

The strange looks begin as soon as we hit the cycle path next to the Elbe, and don’t let up for the remainder of the day. It seems that riding around Dresden in the middle of winter wearing shorts is not appropriate, or at least very un-German. Reactions vary; looks of horror from the elderly users of the bike path, laughter from those closer to our age and pointing from children, who stand open mouthed as we wobble by. That our bikes are older than many of the surrounding buildings, and squeak and groan with each pedal forward, does not aid us in slipping by incognito.

Australia day, and we’d set ourselves a mission of riding some 60 kilometres south to Sachsiche Schweiz, the Switzerland of Saxony, a large national park bordering the Elbe river. The aim of this journey was to climb some of the huge rock formations further down the river where, in the Middle Ages, a fortress had been built to repel invaders. Rather than bore you with details of the ride: long, beautiful, and broken at intervals for Gluhwein, I shall point you toward the photos on flickr and skip forward to five pm, with dark rapidly approaching, and us electing to press on toward Konigstein, a fortress town some five kilometres further up the river.

In hindsight, walking up a mountain through a forest in the pitch black was perhaps not the brightest idea, but as with so many other tales that end up as being worth telling, it made so much sense at the time. By the light of torch, we made it to the summit along a near-vertical cobblestone path and slogged around the perimeter of the imposing ten-storey fortress walls. The wind had picked up and whistled in our ears, threatening to blow us off the edge. Unsurprisingly, we were completely alone at the top.

We elected to take what we assumed would be a more direct route down, but rather than dog-leg to the right as expected, our chosen road dipped into the forest, crossed under a bridge, and became an alarmingly narrow mud track. Then it started raining. Some forty minutes later, with us wandering through a huge open meadow with no idea as to the direction of the nearest town, our torch began to reflect what were unmistakably a pair of animal’s eyes bobbing toward us.

As we debated the stage at which the previously agreed secret code for “piss-bolt” would be deployed, the eyes abruptly veered to the left and disappeared. There was indecision amongst the party as to whether this was a good thing and as we tried to illuminate both the track in front and anything trying to kill us from behind, it continued to rain. “Germany has wolves, right? What about bears? Oh shit, remember the bears.”

Over the past few days I have been made to understand just how limited my German was. However, the tiny white sign with “Am Stadtzentrum, 20 min” made me feel like was ready to converse with fluency. “This way, it’s this way!” The years spent with Thomas and his moped not wasted after all.

Returning to our bikes, wheeling them back into town, and then shouldering them onto the bicycle carriage for the 50 minute train ride home may have been the happiest moment of my life. We had survived the near-brutal wilds of near-rural Germany and we were headed directly to beer.

We celebrate the rest of Australia day with breaded dumplings and beer, whilst the Hungarian shop owner shouts gruffly into the telephone and blows smoke at the no smoking sign next to our table. My whole body aches and I am studiously not thinking about the pain that will be had clambering over the giant chair to get into my bunk.

Perhaps tomorrow we can try taking the bikes in shorts and t-shirts and gauge the reaction. That’s for tomorrow though. For now, sleep.

Posted in Travel on Saturday February 2, 2008.