People from the Cycle Way.

Herbert must have spotted us a couple of blocks away, I reckon he was one of those people who cruise around on their bikes looking for people to help.

By the time we were within earshot of him, we were stranded on a pedestrian island with  our bikes, and about to attempt a crossing on a five street intersection with no lights.

"You must come back here" he was shouting in German, but we had no problem making an appropriate interpretation.

We were in the city of Ulm, where we had pampered ourselves by staying in a "Pension", our first experience in this type of accomodation. It was only several hundred metres away from the famous Ulm Cathedral, which has the tallest spire of any Cathedral in the world (no I did'nt know about it either).

We booked in around 4pm, I took the opportunity to shower,  refresh and charge up our barrage of hi tech equipment ( - no our bikes are not electric, but there are plenty of them around), while Val took the opportunity to have a couple of hours cruising shoe shops without me hanging about.

Next morning we got to the Cathedral early and paid our money to climb the tower. Well I climbed half way and spent around 40 minutes checking out a display of all the worlds Cathedrals with smaller spires, while Val went on up to the top. Her description of the last section confirmed my decision as the right one for me.
We packed our gear and left the city heading for the University, where our guidebook told us there was a Sculpture Park. That's where Herbert came into the story.

"Mmm, the University, that is very difficult by bicycle from here, let me think" he had worked in the camera and photographic equipment world before retiring ten years ago and with various trips overseas, had polished his English to very good.

He gazed out through his spectacles towards the University, perched on a hill some kilometres away in the distance.

"It is quite a climb up there, it could be as much as 90 metres. Follow me I will show you a way" and took off.

For a slightly portly man he showed a good turn of speed and on our loaded bikes we only managed to catch up when he was delayed at crossing lights. A round about couple of kilometres on cycleways, found us perched on a long arcing overhead bridge, which looked out over the city and up to the university.

Albert was an avid amateur Historian, with a story he just had to tell and he could not have had a more interested audience. Ulm was bombed heavily during the second world war, a big railway centre and cloth manufacturing industry. "My parents suffered hardship during the war" he told us. Ulm also had a prison for Political Prisoners and pointing to a lanmark away on the other side "Near there is a large memorial to the many German people killed by the Nazis - Communists, liberals, and anyone who opposed the regime, were imprisoned, tortured and often killed"

Another large wall nearby, was part of a large fort built during the Napoleonic Wars, as Ulm was a strategic spot on the Donau where battalions were stationed central to areas the French were likely to move. One of the "Tourist Stories" we heard on our 40 minute boat trip through the Donau Gorge was a Limestone feature the commentator said was Napoleon's Suitcase "On the occasion of a battle here, Napoleon had  to leave in such a hurry, that he is said to have left his suitcase behind".

We said a warm goodbye to Herbert and set off up the hill (which was more like 200 metres high)


later the same day.

We  took a side trip up one of the smaller streams feeding into the Donau, the Blau and were looking for somewhere to camp and also find a Wifi hotspot, which is like looking for gold here in Germany (Poland and Czech Republic, had it in every camping-ground). After getting caught in a bit of a rainshower coming out of Ulm, the afternoon had warmed up and we were also looking for an ice cream.

The young woman in a little parkside kiosk  served us icecream and spoke English, we asked;
 "Was there a place to Camp?"

"The only camping is about 5 kilometre from here, you go out on this way---"
sensing our lack of enthusiasm for this idea, she then said

 "But if you like, there is a place near the Campervan Park, just over the road on the grass beside the stream, there are no Police in this town and no-one would mind if you put your tent up there."

"That sounds good to us, what about Internet?"
" The only place in town where you can do Internet, is a bit of a rough Hotel on the other side of the town."
( she did not elaborate, but must have decided that we looked like her Grandparents and as she would not send them to this establishment, then we should not go there either.)

We were sitting at one of her tables in the open air, eating our icecream, when she emerged from the kiosk and said;

" If you like to come back after I close at 6pm, then will give you the password for the kiosk Wifi."
Of course we agreed and were sitting there doing the blog and catching up on news till well after dark.

Cycle Touring Does not Cost the Earth

On the cycle way, sometime during the next day, we were stopped checking the map, when I noticed two men some distance away, engaged in an interchange of notes. One was on a mountain bike, resplendent in the latest cycling couture, while the other was on a road bike, shabbily dressed and the bike adorned wih all manner of plastic shopping bags hanging on every available surface of the bike from handlebar to rear carrier.

"A kindly local, giving a cycling bagman the address of the nearest shelter", I imagined.
A short time later we turned onto a steep street, peddling like Road Runner at full pelt (but only clocking 2kph on the speed radar) when we came behind the same person, pushing his bike uphill on foot and clutching at his back as if suffering from an injury.

"Are you alright?" Val asked concernedly as she rode by. No reply, but he carried on behind us.
Rain was coming on, we holed up in a Bus Shelter to put on wet weather gear and while there the cycling bagman rode slowly past. I kept my eye on him and saw him dissapear into a churchyard.
And that might have been the end of the story, but No!

After staying the night at Munderkingden Camping ground, and attending the "Munderkingden Festival" that night - we asked several of the locals

"What is the Festival about?" The only consistent answer we got was-
"Drinking Beer " they said, laughing loudly.
"Do you Wanna Rock" the small but lively lead singer of the Band kept calling out (in English)  as the band hooked up their mikes, speakers and woofers,

"We're really gonna rock tonight" he called into the microphone as the sound man gave him the thumbs up.
We and several hundred others stood around with out beers and various types of fast food from the multiude of stalls - we tried a couple of local beers, a "Wurst Sausage" in a bun and a massive Donor Kebab, from the local Turkish Community Stall (containing at almost half a pig - and probably would have, had we not said "That's enough" in a horrified tone. I then made the mistake of biting into a green pickled Chilli,  which was on offer for free and it was only the beer that saved me from. putting on the rock and roll performance of the night)

Speaking of which, after warming up the sound system and giving us a few bars of "Good Golly Miss Molly", the band left the stage and all of us in huge suspense and they took off to a "very nearby" bar.

They did come back though and Rocked the village pretty well, though at the time Val and I went back to camp, no-one, apart from several seven to ten year olds were actually dancing. (I had a sore toe and Val  was not able to get me onto the rough cobbled dance area to demonstrate the "Super-------t" Rock that is our specialty :-)

We were having a cool drink stop the next day, at a little shelter set up by the residents in a very small village, when an apparition appeared at the end of the table, and introduced himself saying,
"I'm riding from the Black Sea to London" in very broken English, yes it was the Cycling Bagman.
"My name R-roman" did I detect a slight stammer

After a bit of chat, establishing that he was Bulgarian and off to visit a friend in London, he parked his bike, pulled out of one of the plastic bags on the handlebars, a bit of wast cardboard, sat down at the table and proceeded to write his name, address, telephone  number and email address for us to file away.

"I T-T-T-TV Reporter" he said

"You are on TV? " I queried

"No I TV r-r-r-r-reporter", reached for the cardboard address information he had given me,  flipped it over and wrote "TV Reporter" , just to eliminate any doubt I may have had regarding his status. My imagination ran wild.

Roman took photos of us, got me to write out my email address and was then diverted by a new arrival.
"He's nuts" murmed Val to me, "Lets get going" .

It was one of the Villagers who had come to say hello, and was now getting the same treatement from Roman (Spelt Rumen by the way). At this point Roman's bike decided to fall over and I almost gave myself a hernia helping get if back up again - no wonder he was carrying a spare rim - amongst goodness knows what else, it was bending in the middle.

Roman got the local man to take a photo of him posing with us (We could be on Bulgarian TV by now!!!)
Another group of cyclists arrived and Roman pounced on them, which gave us a chance to chat to the local man, then an English family, who had previously lived in Christchurch arrived, so a bit of a catchup on cycleways and earthquakes before we got on our way.

Somehow Roman had got ahead of us - we peddaled furiously and shot past him

"Internet --Photo" he called into our slipstream.

We met him again at several intersections, as we gazed at the signpost he would glide up behind us
"Route 6 Rhine, France and London" he would say

"Yes, that's right" said Val " We are taking a side trip to look at an Abby" (this was actually true, Val had mentioned it earlier and could not have been more convenient.

"Bye Roman" We cycled off with the feeling that we may meet again along the way.
And we did.

Sitting in a Hotel Cafe alongside the cycleway, me drinking a beer and facing up the track, Val eating a magnificent Ice Cream and Fruit concoction, sitting oppposite, I looked up and saw him rolling down the hill;
"Don't look, it's Roman" I said holding up a hand to shield my face as he passed by only two metres from us, intent on keeping his rickety outfit upright.
We giggled like silly schoolkids, this was getting ridiculous - and it got worse.
Looking forward to a camp ground, shower and the works and knowing we were behind what could be our nemesis, we were on the lookout.
The campground was on the other side of the Donau, but clearly visible at around 300m. As I rode past I turned on my super vision and said to Val
"That's Roman, I'm sure, that tent and bike at the end. Do we go in or not"
Val was keen to wild camp and I wanted a shower, but no badly enough, so based on the grounds of a "possible sighting" we rode on.
Several sites were considered and rejected, until we came to a lovely meadow where the cycle-way crossed the river.

"This side, just by the bridge looks great, I don't think the local farmer will mind" I said as Val and I rode up to the bridge. It was not until we were at the approach and about to ride down the grassy slope alongside the bridge when I spotted someone on the bridge, leaning on the rail to take a photo.
"Quick, turn round, Roman's on the bridge, get going before he see's us" I exclaimed

We camped up a sidetrack in the most amazing Limestone gorge, an old Castle perched 150 metres on the rocky outcrop, it's outlook up and down the river and over our tent, where we had a peaceful nights sleep.
Next morning we passed the person on the bridge, it was not Roman.

The Roman Saga will be continued.