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Sauer-Power The morning dawned clear. After a short climb we learned why it had been so chilly. We had camped almost at the summit. We swept downhill into a swirling mass of cloud. When we reached Klingenthal there wasn't a bit of blue in the gray sky. We wanted to climb back above the mist. By the time we finished grocery shopping the sun had triumphed in burning off the morning mist. In Zwota we found a pleasant lunch stop next to a little stream. Many fall leaves were already taking a watery ride downstream--helping remind me summer was over. I thought the stream was too small for fish. But, vigorous splashes erupted as an errant bug floated past. The location of the Czech border dictated our afternoon route. We had to head west to avoid Czech's jutting western finger. Probably the middle one. We didn't desire any more trouble with the Czech border guards. In the hamlet of Bergen we met Peter and Andrea, a touring German couple, complete with mandatory red waterproof Ortlieb panniers. My pannier covers were spray painted imitation red--I called them my Dorkliebs. Peter and Andrea told us they lived twenty-six kilometers uphill from Lake Constance. They had cycled two years in Australia and New Zealand (20,000 kilometers); four months in Morocco (spectacular scenery, but hard people--the kids always threw rocks at them); three months in Thailand and Indonesia (cheap and incredibly friendly); and six months in India and Pakistan (cycle the west coast). They were on a three week shakedown tour, preparing themselves for another three-month tour in Thailand. We passed through Posseck, the last town in the former East Germany. An old man wished me "Gute fahrt," and I profusely thanked him. Sharon and I planned on camping in the forest past Regnitzlosau, just on the west side of the old east-west German border. The road conditions improved dramatically and towns began to display considerably more color, parks, flowers, amenities and single dwelling homes. I saw a fellow out in his yard washing his car, so I stopped and asked for water. Sharon waited half a block ahead. He asked if I wanted a coffee. I warbled, "I'll check with my Frau." We leaned our bikes against a wall and went inside. They gave us water, bottled. Mrs Schnabel served coffee with large wedges of scrumptious peach cheesecake. Their daughter, Carol, arrived with her boyfriend Hank. Carol studied languages and spoke English well. In a week, she and Hank would be off to New York for holidays. Carol worked at the airport in Hof for the travel agency. Water bottles filled; coffee and cheesecake finished. Out the door we went, but by then it was dark. "You have lights?" they enquired. "Oh, no," we replied. "Boy, it sure is dark out here isn't it? I hope that forest is near by!" They looked at one another. "Would you like to stay the night? We can't let you leave without lights." We quickly stowed our bikes in the garage. Mr Schnabel showed us an upstairs bedroom. Showers downstairs. "Would you like to have supper with us?" they politely asked. We smiled. I liked the special Bavarian sauerkraut. They warned us about sauer-power--the turbo thrust they assured we would acquire from eating sauerkraut. There was roast swine and potato balls as well. Hank gravely specified, "Mrs Schnabel rolls the potato klösse in her armpit to make them round." Mrs Schnabel informed me they were Hank's favorite. He just wanted to eat them all himself. I washed everything down with a couple shared German beers. Then peppermint schnapps capped off the feast. Their son Frank, worked at the university in Munich. He labored in the Sports research department and had been doing timed measurements for the bobsled team. At the end of tryouts, the participants encouraged him, "For fun, why don't you give it a try? We'll time you." Frank did. And he was faster than everyone. Frank was then on the bobsled team practicing for the next Olympics. Mrs Schnabel packed more cheesecake for us. Mr Schnabel gave us their address and explicitly communicated it was good as a coupon for more cheesecake whenever we came back. Sharon hugged Mrs Schnabel, "This was the best water stop we've had in two years." In Kirchenlanitz we spotted a brightly colored town hall adorned with huge flower boxes brimming with multi-colored flowers. We stopped to indulge in our cheesecake. A man and woman across the street began snapping our picture as we sat enjoying the sun. Soon they approached and asked if they could take a picture of us with our bikes in front of the Rat Haus (those Germans knew what politicians were). Before we knew what was happening the woman had moved Sharon's bike up the stairs beside us and the man happily clicked away. He revealed he worked for the local newspaper. He was impressed when we said we were riding all the way to Pegnitz today. "It is a long way from here and it is hilly all the way," he informed us. "You must be very strong," he added, eyeing Sharon's thighs. We soon remounted our bikes, now concerned we wouldn't reach Pegnitz before sundown. The terrain was hilly. We entered a forest park and found some little used roads, with plenty of climbing. Luckily, even the smallest white roads on our map were in good shape in the west part of Germany. No sand. The grade into Bischof was particularly steep. One old man in Bavarian liederhosen stood silently as we inched passed. Many persons simply stared as we slowly strained past. Some laughed in delight. The small tourist site attracted hundreds of bus transported persons. We later learned Bischof was a spa health resort where many Germans took a paid vacation from their jobs. Hiking trails and mountain bike trails filled the forest around Warmensteinach. In Warmensteinach we noticed a white blanket of rain moving toward us. Conveniently, there was a covered shelter in the town playground. We rolled our bikes inside and prepared to wait out the storm. We didn't have to wait long. The rain soon came. It poured. When the rain finally passed it was getting late. We rode out of town. A hidden hiking path went into the trees by a creek and we pulled in there for the night. Many leaves already covered the ground in a brown blanket. |
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