I just decided to not set an alarm, and got up around 8:00. Breakfast, then a short visit at the local Decathlon. They had cycling gloves there…After the visit I still had shoes with the soles detached but I had gloves. Cheap ones, too… The day promised to become hot. hotter than Thursday. And I had actually checked weather reports before I left and packed for 15C. Which means an extra vest, some long-sleeve stuff and leg warmers. None of that I used during the ride. I fixed my shoes. If it is moving and should not, use duct tape. I had a little load – stuck around one of my pencils. A piece was enough to at least have my shoes not go slapslapslap with every step. My knee went silent – no pain, all good. instead my heel started to act up. Why-ever. I never had had problems there. First left side. Maye the way to tell me to stop, but really, there was no issue. A bit rearranging. I did not use cleats so I had all the variability for pedaling which I could have.
A bit like the random forefoot pain during Ironman Mont-Tremblant where I took a couple of downhills with the feet out of the shoes.
Gone after the race.This area was Tour-de-France-land. Every other little village sported bike themed decorations. Yellow shorts, yellow bikes, green trikots, green bikes, reddish polkadotted trikots and same-colored bikes plus the occasional go-go-go signage on the sides and on the streets.They had come through three days earlier. I was three days late.One of those sporting events not for slow female riders, so I was perfectly fine with that.Friendly greetings everywhere, though, and very careful motorists.D1 is my friend. I followed Route D1 for almost all day – or so it felt. Past wide landscapes. up hills, down hills. Past cemeteries. Soldier grave next to soldier grave. All looking the same. Those guys being uniformed even in Death. Young people with their lifes in front of them, before it ended abruptly.Remnant of war times in this area. We have forgotten how bitter war can be. These cemetaries should remind everyone passing there.
Since Europe grew together. we have been living in peace. More or less.
I do not understand that people want to give this up. Back to endless cemetaries?
A supermarket. German opening hours. with lunch break. People were in here but I wasn’t supposed to get inside to get me a bottle of water.
I found a bistro at a street corner, village square. There is a fountain, just water splashing from the ground.
I stopped for a coffee, checked their blackboard with the menue and decided for Tomato Mozzarella plus a Creme Brulee dessert. Plus coffee and water.
Next door table was occupied by a english speaking couple emptying a bottle of champaign. Original champaign – this was still the official place to grow grapes for this sparkling delicacy.We got to talk – and as expected them being Scots we had to drift off into politics.
Britain. Scotland. Brexit. Europe. Me on my PanEurope tour, them in a part-country which did not like what their country did. Seeing the detrimental disadvantages for Britain when all those immigrants weren’t there anymore to do the harvest. They were old enough to remember borders in Europe. And so am I. One of the reasons I wanted to do this trip from the first time I saw this sign for this bikepath in Kronau. Borders are for scaredicats.
At the other table next to me the scene was very French, indeed. A couple of old men on bikes had approached to have a nice beer together. Chatting away. For it was hot, one of them got up, went to the fountain, got himself all underwater and came back sitting down. Dripping.Pictures in my mind. Our dormitory, my French friends and me chasing through the whole building with water pistols. Getting drippy wet. One of the men spoke better German than I speak French so we got to talk. He wanted to continue to ride with me – on my luggage rack, but then settled for a peck on the cheek. He got two, French style.Most people I spoke to could not understand that I had been doing a hundred km the day before and already somewhat 60-ish that day.
Eventually I had to get going. This bistro and their population had been so inviting to stay. The hilly course continued. More bike art. More tour remnants.Hills. Every conquered hill a victory. One detour from my GPS which I had to correct via a super long super steep ramp – estimate 15% (steep if you include my luggage…)
Google maps gave me a nice bed and breakfast 2km off course. I could have gone the 12km detour to Vitry instead but I chose this.
Google said to arrive before 8pm but nobody was in the neighborhood.So the detour to Vitry now was 10km. And there supposedly were five or six places to stay overnight.
Down down down, these were really quick 10km, because it went all the way downhill. Past a Burger King. Past a Mac Donalds.
First Vitry, then the second. The village square is set up for carnival. Actually for the celebration of the 14th Juilliet.
First hotel looked not like a hotel so I went to the next, which was a B&B. Nobody there. Some guy just came out and showed me where to call. Noone picked up, but two minutes later the owner came by and invited me in.I had two rooms for a choice, both very French looking. French Clichee…I chose one, asked him for a recommendation for food.
Indienne ou Japonais?
After a good shower I walked to the Indian restaurant, had really good food there, and Indian beer. Then, switching on the ingress scanner checked out the (blue) town, went to most portals for unique hacks plus the leftover links, deployed some upgrades. Submitted a portal picture. And eventually made my way back into the B&BWhat a dekadent room. Even a swimming pool but when I came it was covered up… Off to bed, another ride tomorrow.
