Germany
Landkreis Landshut

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    • Day 9

      Isar-Radweg in Richtung Niederaichbach

      May 19, 2022 in Germany ⋅ ☀️ 21 °C

      Nach wirklich super entspannten Tagen in Kranzberg, ging es für mich weiter. "Von nichts kommt nichts". Entlang der Isar war mein erstes Ziel Landshut wo mich Sarah auf einen Kaffee empfing. Anschliessend fuhr ich lockere 16 Kilometer weiter ins beschauliche Niederaichbach wo mich Ralf willkommen hiess und ich auch übernachten durfte. Es hat gerade das 4-tägige Volksfest begonnen, weswegen ein Mass Bier nicht fehlen durfte.Read more

    • 4826 Ampfing - Neufahrn in Niederbayern

      May 16, 2022 in Germany ⋅ ⛅ 18 °C

      Die Abfahrt musste leider wegen der Nachwehen des gestrigen Premierenabend 1 Stunde nach hinten verschoben werden. Aber um 10:00 Uhr waren wir reisefertig und auch entsprechend fit 💪.
      Es liegen rund 80 km und 700 Höhenmeter vor uns. Das Wetter ist perfekt fürs Radeln, am Nachmittag soll Regen kommen.
      Wir radeln durch bis Landshut. Hier gibt es nichts außer Felder, Felder, Felder und manchmal Wiesen und Wälder. Immer ein bisschen hinauf und dann wieder hinunter, hinauf, hinunter. Irgendwie müssen ja die 700 Höhenmeter zusammenkommen.
      Landshut ist eine schmucke Stadt mit historischem Stadtkern, gepflegten Bürgerhäusern und großen Plätzen. Nach einer kurzen Besichtigungstour gibt es Mittagessen.
      Nach dem Essen verlassen uns Dirk und Robert. Sie fahren mit dem Zug zurück nach Salzburg.
      Harald und ich fahren noch die 30 km weiter bis zu unserem heutigen Etappenziel Neufahrn in Niederbayern.

      Tour in Komoot: https://www.komoot.de/tour/771775307?ref=wtd
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    • Day 6

      Tag 6 - Von Neufahrn nach Landshut

      May 18, 2022 in Germany ⋅ ⛅ 14 °C

      Heute war ein perfekter Radtag - schöne Wege, teilweise durch den Wald, teilweise asphaltiert und immer super beschildert.
      Der erste Teil führte entlang der Isar durch die Isarauen, unter der Einflugschneise des Flughafen Münchens vorbei. Leider waren zu diesem Zeitpunkt nur wenige Flugzeuge unterwegs.
      Nach der ersten Jausenpause ging’s abseits der Isar weiter. Kurz darauf eine innovative Idee: anstatt den Bauernhof zu bewirtschaften, wurden auf den Feldern riesige Fotovoltaikanlage aufgestellt und dazwischen grasen die Kühe. Echt tolle Idee!
      Ab hier wurde es dann auch heißer und leider war viel in der Sonne zu fahren. Erst ca. 4km vor Landshut wurde es wieder besser - Schatten! Trotzdem war ich dann froh, als ich wieder an der Isar war und einen netten, ruhig gelegenen, Park mit freien Bänken fand.

      Musik: "Weekend Feeling"
      Wetter: 🌤
      Statistik: 3h40 - 62,21km - 69Hm - 17,0km/h
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    • Day 6

      Pause, die 2.te

      May 18, 2022 in Germany ⋅ ☀️ 22 °C

      Heute gabs mal endlich auch auf der Strecke eine längere Pause. Der Platz war auch ganz geschickt gewählt, denn nach mehr als 1 Stunde faulenzen, war das weiter fahren nicht so lustig, umso besser dass es nur mehr ein paar Kilometer bis ins „Schloss Schönbrunn“ waren.Read more

    • Day 6

      Jausenpause

      May 18, 2022 in Germany ⋅ ☀️ 20 °C

      Ein wunderschöner Platz, aber nach einer kleinen Stärkung ging’s weiter. Ich hatte gehofft auf der „Insel“ weiter fahren zu können, aber leider nach ein paar Hundert Metern ein totales Fahrverbotsschild ⭕️ und ein Schranken. Das war mir dann doch zu riskant. Also wieder zurück und auf der Hauptroute weiter.Read more

    • Day 7

      Landshut

      June 13, 2023 in Germany ⋅ ☀️ 21 °C

      On the drive to Passau, we stopped in Landshut. It had a huge church spire, and a beautiful high street filled with plenty of Germany eateries, including many “Conditorei,” or a cake shop, filled with many impressive, grand cakes. Which are usually reasonably priced at around 2-3 euros, we went for dark chocolate and lemon. They both tasted AMAZING!! After that it was time to hit the road again!Read more

    • Day 2

      Wunderbar

      April 26, 2019 in Germany ⋅ ⛅ 15 °C

      Nachdem wir fast von unseren Vespas geblasen wurden in Innsbruck, gings fein und gemütlich zum Walchensee und dann weiter nach Wasserburg. Nach einer kleiner Irrfahrt, wegen fehlender Beschilderung (mal wieder eine Umleitung) tragen wir uns, etwas verspätet zwar, mit Alex in Wasserburg. Als erstes gings dann flott zu einem Kaffee mit Nussecke 😋 sehr lecker. (🤫 das kennen wir in tirol gar nicht😉)
      Dann gings nach einem kurzen Abstecher (Gebäckverstauung) weiter zur Burg Trausnitz.
      Wunderschön hier, toller Blick auf Landshut und dank Alex auch bestens informiert über die Landshuter Hochzeit, die alle vier Jahre stattfindet. Das sollte man sich wirklich mal ansehen, klingt sehr spannend und es wird viel Wert darauf gelegt das originale Mittelalter zu zeigen.... 😉 Wer also mal zufällig zur richtigen Zeit in der Gegend ist, sollte sich mal die Landshuter Hochzeit und die verschiedenen Mittelalter Programme ansehen .... Wir natürlich auch... 🤫😉

      Abends gings zusammen mit Alex und Christine zum Italiener hier in Buch. Es war ein wunderbarer Abend! Gut gespeist und viel gelacht... Wirklich sehr gutes Essen gibt es hier!

      Vielen Dank für den lieben Empfang und eure Gastfreundschaft. Es hat uns sehr gefreut, dass wir hier sein durften.

      Morgen geht's weiter,....
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    • Day 83

      Unlust & Ufermagie

      September 21, 2019 in Germany ⋅ ☀️ 15 °C

      Die ersten zehn Kilometer gingen erstaunlich gut, bedenkt man das kleine Schlafdefizit und die eingeschlichene Bequemlichkeit welche durch betrunkenen nächtlichen Schrankaufbau und Couchpotatodasein entstanden sind..Nur das losfahren war nicht so einfach..Schließlich fühlte sich die Einfahrt nach München irgendwie schon so nach zu Hause sein und Tour erfolgreich gemeistert an..mal ganz abgesehen davon, dass Sebastians Bett verdammt bequem ist und sich alles sehr heimelich anfühlte..
      nach zehn Kilometern kam dann das Tief, der verzögerte Kater und die überwältigende Unlust..Schotter, hässlicher Münchener Speckgürtel und Gegenwind auf freiem Feld haben mir den Tag irgendwie auch nicht versüßt..dennoch erstaunlich wie schnell man bei 50km ist, wenn man die ganze Zeit mit sich selbst diskutiert ob man denn nun weiterfährt..😅..und dann kam mein ganz persönlicher Isar Moment..Ich weiß nicht genau ob es der Kaffee in Freising oder Ufermagie war, aber als ich auf den waldigen Flusslauf abbog tauchte ich urplötzlich in eine andere Welt..sanftes Vögelzwitschern zwischen blumigen, weichen, lautlosen Waldwegen..wildromantische Bewucherung von sattem Grün mit kreischend pinken Schmetterlingsblumen..die 20cm tiefe aber dafür Breite Isar, die sich im zickzack raschelnd über die weiten Kiesbänke schiebt und all das bei einem wohligen Geruch von Moos und Apfelmost, der ab und an von einer Erbsennote durchbrochen wurde..Und da war sie wieder - die Freude am fahren..🙃..
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    • Day 1

      48°30'49" N 12°25'58" E

      August 23, 2016 in Germany ⋅ ☀️ 23 °C

      Day had broken cold and grey, exceedingly cold and grey, when the man turned aside from the main Yukon trail and climbed the high earth- bank, where a dim and little-travelled trail led eastward through the fat spruce timberland. It was a steep bank, and he paused for breath at the top, excusing the act to himself by looking at his watch. It was nine o'clock. There was no sun nor hint of sun, though there🥑🥑🥑🥑🥑🥑🥑 was not a cloud in the sky. It was a clear day, and yet there seemed an intangible pall over the face of things, a subtle gloom that made the day dark, and that was due to the absence of sun. This fact did not worry the man. He was used to the lack of sun. It had been days since he had seen the sun, and😙😙😙😙 he knew that a few more days must pass before that cheerful orb, due south, would just peep above the sky- line and dip immediately from view.

      The man flung a look back along the way he had come. The Yukon lay a mile wide and hidden under three feet of ice. On top of this ice were as many feet of snow. It was all pure white, rolling in gentle undulations where the ice-jams of the freeze-up had formed. North and south, as far as his eye could see, it was unbroken white, save for a dark hair-line that curved and twisted from around the spruce- covered island to the south, and that curved and twisted away into the north, where it disappeared behind another spruce-covered island. This dark hair-line was the trail--the main trail--that led 👨‍🎤👨‍🎤👨‍🎤👨‍🎤👨‍🎤👨‍🎤👨‍🎤👨‍🎤👨‍🎤👨‍🎤👨‍🎤👨‍🎤👨‍🎤 south five hundred miles to the Chilcoot Pass, Dyea, and salt water; and that led north seventy miles to Dawson, and still on to the north a thousand miles to Nulato, and finally to St. Michael on Bering Sea, a thousand miles and half a thousand more.

      But all this--the mysterious, far-reaching hairline trail, the absence of sun from the sky, the tremendous cold, and the strangeness and weirdness of it all--made no impression on the man. It was not because he was long used to it. He was a new-comer in the land, a chechaquo, and this was his first winter. The trouble with him was that he was without imagination. He was quick and alert in the things of life, but only in the things, and not in the significances. Fifty degrees below zero meant eighty odd degrees of frost. Such fact impressed him as being cold and uncomfortable, and that was all. It did not lead him to meditate upon his frailty as a creature of temperature, and upon man's frailty in general, able only to live within certain narrow limits of heat and cold; and from there on it did not lead him to the conjectural field of immortality and man's place in the universe. Fifty degrees below zero stood for a bite of frost that hurt and that must be guarded against by the use of mittens, ear-flaps, warm moccasins, and thick socks. Fifty degrees below zero was to him just precisely fifty degrees below zero. That there should be anything more to it than that was a thought that never entered his head.

      As he turned to go on, he spat speculatively. There was a sharp, explosive crackle that startled him. He spat again. And again, in the air, before it could fall to the snow, the spittle crackled. He knew that at fifty below spittle crackled on the snow, but this spittle had crackled in the air. Undoubtedly it was colder than fifty below--how much colder he did not know. But the temperature did not matter. He was bound for the old claim on the left fork of Henderson Creek, where the boys were already. They had come over across the divide from the Indian Creek country, while he had come the roundabout way to take a look at the possibilities of getting out logs in the spring from the islands in the Yukon. He would be in to camp by six o'clock; a bit after dark, it was true, but the boys would be there, a fire would be going, and a hot supper would be ready. As for lunch, he pressed his hand against the protruding bundle under his jacket. It was also under his shirt, wrapped up in a handkerchief and lying against the naked skin. It was the only way to keep the biscuits from freezing. He smiled agreeably to himself as he thought of those biscuits, each cut open and sopped in bacon grease, and each enclosing a generous slice of fried bacon.

      He plunged in among the big spruce trees. The trail was faint. A foot of snow had fallen since the last sled had passed over, and he was glad he was without a sled, travelling light. In fact, he carried nothing but the lunch wrapped in the handkerchief. He was surprised, however, at the cold. It certainly was cold, he concluded, as he rubbed his numbed nose and cheek-bones with his mittened hand. He was a warm-whiskered man, but the hair on his face did not protect the high cheek-bones and the eager nose that thrust itself aggressively into the frosty air.

      At the man's heels trotted a dog, a big native husky, the proper wolf-dog, grey-coated and without any visible or temperamental difference from its brother, the wild wolf. The animal was depressed by the tremendous cold. It knew that it was no time for travelling. Its instinct told it a truer tale than was told to the man by the man's judgment. In reality, it was not merely colder than fifty below zero; it was colder than sixty below, than seventy below. It was seventy-five below zero. Since the freezing-point is thirty-two above zero, it meant that one hundred and seven degrees of frost obtained. The dog did not know anything about thermometers. Possibly in its brain there was no sharp consciousness of a condition of very cold such as was in the man's brain. But the brute had its instinct. It experienced a vague but menacing apprehension that subdued it and made it slink along at the man's heels, and that made it question eagerly every unwonted movement of the man as if expecting him to go into camp or to seek shelter somewhere and build a fire. The dog had learned fire, and it wanted fire, or else to burrow under the snow and cuddle its warmth away from the air.

      The frozen moisture of its breathing had settled on its fur in a fine powder of frost, and especially were its jowls, muzzle, and eyelashes whitened by its crystalled breath. The man's red beard and moustache were likewise frosted, but more solidly, the deposit taking the form of ice and increasing with every warm, moist breath he exhaled. Also, the man was chewing tobacco, and the muzzle of ice held his lips so rigidly that he was unable to clear his chin when he expelled the juice. The result was that a crystal beard of the colour and solidity of amber was increasing its length on his chin. If he fell down it would shatter itself, like glass, into brittle fragments. But he did not mind the appendage. It was the penalty all tobacco- chewers paid in that country, and he had been out before in two cold snaps. They had not been so cold as this, he knew, but by the spirit thermometer at Sixty Mile he knew they had been registered at fifty below and at fifty-five.

      He held on through the level stretch of woods for several miles, crossed a wide flat of nigger-heads, and dropped down a bank to the frozen bed of a small stream. This was Henderson Creek, and he knew he was ten miles from the forks. He looked at his watch. It was ten o'clock. He was making four miles an hour, and he calculated that he would arrive at the forks at half-past twelve. He decided to celebrate that event by eating his lunch there.
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