1000 kilometre gravel tour
1000 is a number that cannot be calculated in small figures. It just stands there. It scares us both - Laurin and me. But it's nothing more than a distance: from Munich to the Baltic Sea. A thousand kilometres. And that's exactly where we want to go.
My brother has never been to the "German sea". Now he's getting cold feet and staring at the small display on my handlebars. Coros Navigator. Our oracle. It's supposed to lead us away from tarmac and concrete and into forests, meadows and side paths. And indeed: after just a few kilometres, we follow the Isar out of Munich.
The river cuts its way through the city, past the Deutsches Museum, under heavy stone bridges. Then it becomes quieter. Riparian forests, rapids, bottle-green water. Fly fishermen stand in it, motionless, as if they had decided to become part of the landscape.
Forget the number. Forget 1000.
In Neufarn we eat spaghetti Napoli and drink light beer. Laurin calculates the daily stages on his mobile phone.
"Forget the number," I say. "Let your legs drop. All the way to the sea."
"Not so easy," he says.
We ride through a green tunnel, the Isar always at our side. Gravel bikers pass by, large sunglasses on slim noses. We cruise, wanting to save energy.
At a petrol station, I ask Laurin if we should buy a ticket.
"Petrol station prices!" says Laurin.
"Right, then we'll wait for a ticket discounter!" I say.
We laugh and roll off into the sunset.
City, country, river
We spend the night with Luki in Kelheim. The next morning, he accompanies us for a while on his trail bike and guides us through the Frauenholz. "This forest was the number one supplier of timber during the First World War," he says. We look questioningly. "Planks for the trenches of Verdun and Flanders. Probably coffins too." "Creepy," says Laurin. And suddenly the trees look different.
It's still early in the morning - now for a cappuccino! Luki recommends the Café Servus zur Mühle, right on the Naab. Then we dismiss our guide and follow the Coros on the handlebars again. Morning sun, sandy paths, silence. Only the soft chirping of the electronic gears as we change gear. Overland on cycle paths, through forests, along rivers with tired water full of algae, past tennis courts and fishing centres. In Kallmünz we eat egg liqueur cake. The Naab flows so close under the café terrace that you could dangle your feet in the water.
I want to order a dark beer.
'Too early,' says Laurin.
Cappuccino it is.
>> Our first gravel adventure as rookies: off home!
>> Fancy more trips with the brothers? Here you go!
>> This is a must: Parts for your micro-adventure
>> How Laurins Bianchi did on the 1000cc tour. His test
Time travel
Over 300 kilometres in two days. It's on. We sit in the shade of an apple tree and look out over Grafenwoehr. I think of our grandad. In the summer of 1942, as a captain in a black uniform, he tested the new wonder tank here: the Tiger. Now Black Hawk helicopters are flying overhead. Rotor blades whirr, howitzers thunder in the distance - today the US Army is at war on the military training area.
We find a moorland lake in the pine forest. Sun, glistening water, peace - off the bike, out of the clothes, into the lake - marvellous!
Up and down
The Upper Palatinate is a constant up and down. A sign: Kornberg ski hut.
"Bad sign," I say.
We struggle up, almost counting the spokes. A bit of luck at the top, then down at seventy. Straight back up again at the bottom. We fetch water at cemeteries. Graveller knowledge.
Our camp for the night: an abandoned quarry. Rocks, a lake, alone. At 1.50 am it starts to rain. Hesitantly at first, then resolutely. We flee under the canopy of an old factory, flatten stinging nettles, sleep badly. It can go like that too.
No such thing!
The coconut slice in Feilitzsch is terrible. The loo is great. In Plauen, a bare-chested bodybuilder marches out of his Opel Vectra convertible straight into the Lidl supermarket. There's a note on the notice board: "Bits found!"
In Elsterberg, an elderly gentleman implores us to explore the surrounding countryside on our way back from the Baltic Sea on our bikes. Laurin laughs all afternoon at this joke - return journey on bikes!
We can't find a restaurant in Greiz, only kebabs, Asian food and pizza. We roll along forest paths alongside the Weiße Elster, barely making any progress. I jump into a fish pond to get rid of the sticky feeling from the night. "Now you're slimier than before," says Laurin.
I fish the duckweed off my shoulder and let the sun dry me off.
Knee, bone, wheel
Klonk. Does my bottom bracket have play?
"Your bike is new," says Laurin.
On such journeys, man and machine merge. Knees pinch, eyes water, tyres lose air. There's little you can do except keep going. But we boycott the rain. The weather app promises continuous rain. We take the train.
Cheating: A little bit by train
We are travelling by train. Just a little way. Out of the wet Gera, under a grey sky to the north. "Are we cheating?" Laurin asks. "Maybe," I say. "But nobody cares." He: "Riding the train is better than pedalling around for a day with a wet bum?" Me: "That's right!"
It gets flat in Brandenburg. The handlebars are alive, bucking, purring. Sand, cobbles, roots. The last time I felt this sensitive was when I was rollerblading in the nineties.
Brotherly love
Of course we argue. About directions. About food. About extra kilometres. I want to do more than just arrive. I want to go to the right sea. Chalk cliffs. Rügen.
"You're crazy," says Laurin.
At Lake Wolblitz we capitulate to the mosquitoes and take a guesthouse.
The next night we sleep in a burial chapel in the town park. We upstairs, the old nobility downstairs.
The Baltic Sea: finally arrived
We roll onto the ferry in Stahlbrode. The Bodden doesn't count, I think.
On Rügen, cobblestones and chestnut avenues.
One last hill. The seaside resort of Binz. Behind it: the Baltic Sea. Blue. Far away.
We lean our bikes against a beach chair, tear off our clothes and run into the water.
Long distance runner
"Are you an ultra?" I ask, alluding to the ultra-long-distance gravel runners who get addicted to eating up kilometres.
"No," says Laurin. "My bum says no."
As a reward for completing the mission, I promise him a five-star hotel with a sea view.
Prora. The colossus of Rügen. Nazi concrete.
20,000 workers were supposed to be able to holiday in this super hotel at the same time, right by the sea.
After the war a lost place, today luxury flats. Except for block 6.
We climb over steel. Rubble. Stones.
Up to the third floor, sea view over treetops.
"And?" I ask.
"Five stars - really?" says Laurin.
We laugh.
The route
Munich -- Freising -- Abendsberg -- Saal an der Donau -- Kelheim -- Nittendorf -- Kallmünz -- Amberg -- Pressnath -- Rehau -- Feilitzsch -- Plauen -- Elsterberg -- Greiz -- Gera -- (train to Bad Belzig) -- Brandenburg an der Havel -- Neuruppin -- Rheinsberg -- Wesenberg -- Neustrelitz -- Neubrandenburg -- Altentreptow -- Gützkow -- Greifswald -- Stahlbode -- Putbus auf Rügen -- Seebad Binz auf Rügen
Dimitri Lehner
Editor
