Ulm

Sunday September 11th
In Which we Stagger into Ulm in Pelotonic Tatters

In the past I have often thought that it would be easier to train chickens to dance Swan Lake than to train a group of Ghostriders to ride with pelotonic restraint and discipline. Since we had the largest group of riders that we have ever taken on on overseas ride, the challenge was always going to be a formidable one.

The early signs were ominous. As the group of riders was gathering ready to start the ride from the car park of the Landgasthof Zur Rose, I was still waiting for the last few riders to arrive when a large bunch were already heading off down the street. I was a little surprised that they were heading in the opposite direction to the trail, but I later heard that someone had found that elusive holy grail known as a "cycling short cut".

About 10 minutes later, the final riders were ready and so I led them out of the hotel and on towards Ehingen.

We achieved the short and very pleasant ride without incident and rode into the city centre right on 9 am. It was a very quiet Sunday morning and we were welcomed into the town by the loud tolling of the church bells. Such bells are a feature of all travel in Europe and I have to admit that I have really come to love them.

As we rolled slowly down the main street we could see that preparations were underway for a large market. I suspected that, within a few hours, the place would be really rocking. But at this time it was still very, very peaceful. Or at least it was until a large group of rowdy cyclists rolled into town. To my surprise it was the first group of Ghostriders who had followed such a great short cut that it only added about 30 minutes to the ride.

It was about this time that Gael and Gerry made a shocking discovery - they had left their camera in their room at the hotel. We made a couple of calls to the hotel, thanks to Kurt's translation skills, and soon managed to locate the camera and arrange for it to be added to our bags. I looked around for the first group, but they had already left the town, obviously in search of another short cut.

Some of us had previously decided to stay on the main Danube Bike Path, whereas others wished to do a detour around a slightly longer route.

This meant that riders were now riding on two different bike paths. As the day progressed, two bunches apparently quickly became three, then four and so on, until we had Ghostriders scattered all the way between Donaueschingen and the Black Sea. It was very similar to a typical Thursday Warby Trail Ride.

I found myself riding with Lou, Rhonda, David, Carol, Gael, Gerry and of course Maggie. "Today will be pretty flat", I assured them just before we turned a corner and started to climb up a massive hill. "I think this is the only hill", I added. It wasn't, but after some hard climbing and a few breaks we did reach the top and then enjoyed a beautiful flat ride along the high meadows. The views down to the valley alongside were sensational and we could see rolling hills and small villages scattered about like dust.

The bike path took us through hundreds of acres of corn and we could tell from the rich aroma in the air, that fertiliser (ie manure) was being used liberally. It was in this section that we came across another Ghostrider mounted on his bike.
Apparently he had not been riding fast enough and he and his bike had been enveloped with ivy. We felt it only right to dress him up in a Ghostrider jersey and helmet. In fact I christened him with a good German name - "Helmut".

It seemed appropriate.

A few kilometres further on we spied a small cluster of buildings. Since we were now ready for morning tea we decided to stop. The place was already occupied by a group of locals who were already drinking themselves into an alcoholic stupor, even though it was only 10.30 in the morning. It looked like it was a regular routine.

We settled down to enjoy some coffee and lovely cake. The large nearby barn was full of large friendly steers who we suspected had no idea of where their next journey was going to take them. While we were seated at our table another proud local farmer arrived with his baby horse in his arms. Apparently it was only 5 days old and he wanted to show it off to his drinking mates. It was a magic moment.

Of course, before we could continue on our way, we had to make use of the cafe's facilities. When we entered the front door we were amazed to find a luxury hotel, complete with fancy reception desk and some of the most luxurious toilets we had found so far. I wondered who would stay in such a strange location, right in the middle of a smelly farm.

The rural flavour of the ride continued when we found our way blocked by a group of sheep grazing on the bike path.

."Ewe better watch out", I shouted to the sheep, in an attempt to get them off the path. The shepherd looked fast asleep (or dead), but his two dogs seemed to know how to do his work for him.

When the bike path skirted a small town that looked like a promising place for lunch, we decided to make a detour and look for a cafe. Although we circled the town, there were no cafes in sight. In fact the whole place looked deserted and locked up. Such towns can be officially classed as "Rubbish Towns". We turned around and headed back to the bike path.

I had not gone far before I heard the dreaded cry of "Rider Down". I stopped and turned around to find that Maggie had somehow got her feet confused with her handlebars and had tumbled over into the middle of a busy road. It could have been really nasty, but she was quickly retrieved and the damage examined. Thank goodness for the little first aid kits some of the bikes were fitted with. We proceeded to patch and cover the wounds and succeeded in quickly making both her legs look like the proverbial dog's breakfast. Rhonda rechristened herself as "Dr Torelli" and seemed pleased with the result.

By this time we gave up on lunch and decided to go straight into Ulm instead.

We did however make time for a special Danube tradition - dipping your feet in the river. When we found a suitable spot we ignored the poison ivy, took off our shoes and cooled down in the water. It really did feel good and served to remind us why we were here in the first place.

We resumed our ride and everything was going so well until our easy progress was blocked by a huge construction zone on the very bridge we had planned to cross. There were no detour signs (remember that it is not in the German vocabulary) and no advice what to do. We had no other alternative than to backtrack and try to figure out another path through to the hotel.

Somehow we found ourselves on a gut busting climb to the very highest part of the city. By this time most of our riders were in tears but we did get a good view of the place from a pigeon's lofty perspective. I stopped to ask a friendly local woman for help and she assured me that "yes, we were on the right way". Finally we summited the pass, thankful that it was only covered with a light dusting of snow at this time of the year, and were able to coast virtually all the way to the door of the Maritim Hotel. It was very welcome.

Although the Maritim is a typical 5 star big city hotel and not the type of place that I usually feel at home in, it was nice to collapse in the room and attack the minibar (also something I never usually do).

Over the next couple of hours the remnants of the once proud Ghostriders dribbled into Ulm, mostly in small clumps of hot and tired riders. When the day's ride was examined in more detail I discovered that there had been at least one puncture, one crash and several mechanical failures. Perhaps we really do need to be more organised for the rest of the ride.Baca lagi