The House of Frankenstein

Thursday September 15th
In Which we Enter the House of Frankenstein

In 1818 Mary Shelley scared the wits out of the world with her tale of Dr Frankenstein and his monster. This ghostly horror story was set in the German town of Ingolstadt. Almost two hundred years later, 26 Ghostriders decided to tempt fate by riding into the same city on the 13th day of their ride. Just to tempt fate a little more they also planned it to arrive on the day of the full moon. What could possibly go wrong ? As it turned out, just about everything.

The day certainly started like every previous day of this ride. In fact every day has been so perfect that we are actually starting to tire of sunny days. I told everyone that this ride would be heavily populated with wet days, and so far we were yet to even see a cloud.

Since we knew that the day's riding was going to be long and that we were going to face some serious climbs, we decided to leave early to get some kilometres done before the worst heat of the day.

We set off in high spirits and soon the road started heading uphill. We clicked down through the gears to find the best rhythm. The peloton stretched into a long column. Cycling is such a joy.

Of course every climb has its rewards, in the form of panoramic views at the summit. This first climb was no exception. We were delighted to find an amazing, fully restored classic mansion at the top. Next to the mansion was a large hotel complex which had tastefully been built in the same style as the original home. We decided to stop and investigate further.

Leaving the bikes and walking through the grounds we gazed at the breathtaking views that stretched out before us. As we looked more closely we could see the place where we had ridden from. A friendly local couple started chatting with us as they were curious about our ride. Like every other person we meet, they were staggered to hear just how far we were riding. They also explained that the whole complex had only been opened a year ago. They were from the nearby town of Neuburg and had decided to stay a night, just to see how good it was. After some time chatting, we bade them farewell and resumed our ride.

If we were expecting a lovely downhill, we were soon disappointed.

What followed was a succession of additional climbs, certainly the toughest of the ride so far. I was steadily working my way up one of these hills, when I looked around to see where Maggie was. There was no sign of her. I thought I had better stop and wait for her to catch up. I figured that she could not be more than a few minutes behind. So I waited. And waited. Still no sign.

A couple of other riders were making their way up the climb. I asked them if they had seen a woman rider with a yellow shirt. Unfortunately they had no English whatsoever, or apparently any other language either for that matter. I decided to ride back down and see where she was. I was starting to get concerned. When there was no sign of her at the bottom of the climb, I tried to ring her phone. It took quite a few attempts to get through, but when I did manage to speak to her, she calmly explained that she was resting with the others at the top of the hill.

"How did you get past me ?" I asked.
"I decided to ride up the road, instead of the bike path", was her answer. "It was easier", she explained. Of course she had not given any thought to letting me know where she was going.

That meant I had to turn around and ride up the same hill for a second time.

Not happy, then over the next hour or so we managed to consecutively lose one rider after another. Sometimes we would be riding alongside, happily chatting and then presto, rider disappeared. It was really creeping me out. We were also searching for a coffee stop for morning tea, but all the coffee stops had apparently disappeared too. Rubbish towns every one.

At one likely looking town we started riding around looking for a cafe. There had to be one somewhere. Paul and Gael went missing. This was feeling like "Picnic at Hanging Rock", where riders were just vanishing at every turn.

A little later, as I was battling up yet another steep climb, my mobile phone rang. It was Ken calling to say that Liz had "gone missing". As I struggled to hold the phone and continue riding up the hill, I lost all forward momentum and went off the trail - and straight into a thriving path of stinging nettles. The day was like that. For the next hour hour or so my legs turned bright red and felt like they were being vigorously rubbed with coarse sandpaper.

Fortunately we did eventually retrieve all the missing riders and decided to push on to the next town.

My quest for coffee was finally rewarded when I managed to ask a local guy where coffee was. He gave directions and soon we had found the elusive centre of town, complete with modern coffee shop. A few coffees and cakes later and we were all feeling much better.

After we resumed our ride and when the hills were far behind us, we were riding happily along the top of a dike when David noticed something rolling alongside him. When he looked closer he realised it was his own back wheel. It had somehow become disconnected from his bike. He stopped and reattached the errant wheel and we were back on our way again.

Our next challenge occurred when our way was blocked by a HUGE construction site. They appeared to be doing some serious work on the side of the Danube. I looked at the big fence across the path. "Let's just ignore it", I suggested. We did. It was too late to consider trying to find some alternative route.

We put on our best "we are just stupid old foreigners" faces and proceeded to walk past all the shocked construction workers, wheeling our bikes. I expected at any moment to be met with a torrent of Germanic abuse, but somehow our ruse worked.

The site went on for a long time, but we were able to proceed unchallenged, until we eventually emerged at the other end,

Soon after we arrived at Neuburg and somehow managed to find the best cafe in town. The food was superb. Perhaps things were finally looking up. After deciding to skip yet another castle tour (well actually I never do any form of organised tour) we continued to Ingolstadt. The final few kilometers were flat and made for exceptional riding.

On the outskirts of town we were overtaken by the bolters' group, but they were on a mission and quickly rode past on their way to get to town first. They are always like that.

For some reason, in Ingolstadt we were split over two hotels. Apparently one was large and luxurious with modern, cool rooms and a perfect location. We didn't get that hotel. We got the other one. Our hotel was easily the worst I have endured for many years. The Pfeffermuhle was an absolute shocker of a place.
In the evening we opened the window to try to get some relief, but the incessant traffic noise from trucks and would-be racing drivers, continued all night. Just to add some extra "atmosphere" to the place, there was a huge purple light right outside our room which illuminated our room with the same type of light you get in those toilets that try to discourage drug users. Our only other option was to open the room door to the corridor. We did that and found that the hall light flashed off and on every few seconds, alternately making our room light and dark.

We were actually glad when the morning alarm went off. It had been a dreadful night in every possible respect. Frankenstein is apparently still lurking in the streets of Ingolstadt.Read more