Münsterländchen

After the lung busting, leg snapping, gut wrenching climb from Monschau to Rohren the previous afternoon, I thought that all the physical challenges of the trip were well and truly behind us. It turned out that I was well and truly wrong.

"The remaining two days will be a real doddle", I reassured the stricken faces of the broken riders. It had taken all our determination and fortitude to climb the ridiculous 16% gradient to the top of the mountain where our hotel was located. Of course, since I am of more generous proportions than the rest of the group, I could take some solace from the fact that I had probably worked 20% harder than anyone else. Sometimes gravity really can be a %$#@.

After dinner my heart rate slowly dropped back to around 200 bpm as I staggered up the stairs and collapsed into a dreamless sleep (aka near death experience).

This morning dawned bright and clear, just like the previous few days. Although we have experienced a few diverse challenges, the weather certainly had not been one of them.

We loaded the bikes out of the storage shed and prepared for the dangerous ride back down the mountain (actually vertical cliff face) to Monschau. For the first few seconds everything was OK, then Greg uttered a few German oaths and announced that his bike was dead. I pretended I could not hear him. It was even harder to ignore when Paul also joined the chorus "My bike is busted too", he moaned. This was starting to sound like the three bears, all complaining about their porridge.

Trying to sound both wise and interested, I asked "Have you tried turning it off and on again ?". Apparently they had. At this point there was both good and bad news. After a few aborted restarts, Paul's bike finally woke up and was ready to ride. Greg's bike on the other hand, was dead in the water.

Since it was too difficult to arrange for another replacement bike, it was evident if there was going to be a solution, we would have to find it ourselves. The first step was to strip off the battery and pannier and stuff them onto another bike. Greg was then exhorted to dig deep and ride without a battery.

Riding a 26kg ebike without power is no mean feat, but fortunately the first 3 km were all downhill. That was the easy bit. Then came the climb back alongside the Rur River to Monschau (not so easy). By the time Greg reached the town he was understandably exhausted.

When we arrived at the town the previous day, we were staggered to find thousands of tourists of every shape, age and size, all jostling each other in the narrow streets. It was our first encounter with such an awful throng, and it took away all the attraction of the town. I had hoped that, on a Monday morning, it would be much quieter. That was true for a time, but we could soon see the crowds starting to build up.

After a rest stop and a coffee or two, it was time to resume the ride. I had been in touch with Erik and he was trying hard to conjure a solution to our problem. We still had a significant hill to climb, before we reached the easier gradient of the Vennbahn. I looked around for a volunteer to ride Greg's bike, pointed to David and thanked him for offering to help. He did not look happy, but reluctantly climbed onboard, at the same time as looking daggers at me.

And so we headed off, and up. Somehow, my masterpiece of planning and clever delegation worked miraculously, and we reached the familar bike path. "It will be easy now", I stated, "It is all downhill from here". Actually that was not quite true. The path continued to climb upwards for several more km, before finally peaking and starting to trend downhill. I dared to believe that we had passed the worst, however it was at about this point that a pelotonic disintegration of epic proportions took place.

Although Michael had been appointed leader for the day, for some reason every rider seemed intent on doing what was right in their own eyes, and ignore the advice of their maps and GPS units. Within a short time, we had riders stretched far and wide all along the trail. Somewhat ironically, Greg (the only rider without a motor) raced off the front and was not seen again for the next 20 km. Others missed turns, some missed entire towns, Paul lost his wife, David seemed to disappear into a new Bermuda Triangle and rode the same section of the trail multiple times, the rest of the peloton just seemed old and confused (probably because that is what they are).

Michael sure chose a rotten day to take on the mantle of leadership. Even with his regal imprimatur, he had no chance of controlling such a chaotic rabble.

While all this was going on, Erik had been busy working the phones and had somehow arranged for the bike company to send a driver with a replacement bike for Greg. We know this because the bike man nearly managed to drive right through our peloton as we emerged into a small village. We recognised the name on the side of the van, and tried to get the riders in front to stop.

What happened next was a comical chase with cyclists being followed by a bike van that was vainly trying to supply the replacement bike. After a few minutes of yelling and shouting the front riders did finally stop. But where on earth was Greg ? Nobody knew.

I tried to explain to the driver that the broken bike was actually moving along faster than all the working bikes and was further down the trail. No wonder he looked confused. The confusion was compounded when I tried to ring Greg, only to hear his phone ringing in someone else's pannier. Oh that's right, we did lighten the bike by removing Greg's pannier !

After another hour of even worse confusion, we somehow arrived at the town of Kornelimunster. By some miracle of mathematics, most of the peloton also arrived there at about the same time. We learned that the driver had found Greg and already swapped the bike. The age of miracles was obviously not over.

All we were missing was David and Catriona. They were many kilometres ahead of us (or so we thought). The rest of us were hungry and found a delightful cafe for a very late lunch. The proprietor was very kind to us, but asked that "next time we came, could we please book ahead ?". I will certainly keep that in mind.

It was then that the final surprise of the day took place. Midway through our lunches, David and Catriona staggered in through the door of the cafe. They were not miles ahead after all. They were actually behind us. I still have no idea how that happened, but it was that sort of day.

The remaining 11 km to Aachen went by without further drama, apart from Michael nearly being run over by a speeding van when he rode over a small road crossing. In hindsight, the van probably missed him by a good 10 cm, so it wasn't that close.

Our home for tonight is the opulent Mercure Hotel in Aachen. Sometimes we all need a little luxury. Tomorrow we finish this part of the ride, as we complete our circuit back into Maastricht.Read more