The existence of well signposted cycling routes in Western Europe can have a curious effect on the mind of a budding cycle tourist. It becomes apparent only a few kilometres from one's starting point that following these routes will result in the most beautiful and safest way to meander towards the destination. Navigation on a bicycle is not the same as in a motorised vehicle, at least if it is to be enjoyed by avoiding the main roads. An optimal bike route is to be found by choosing one of the infinite combinations of roads, tracks, paths and dubious shortcuts from the web that is spread across the continent. It would be possible to minutely plan such a route before starting but the detail of the maps required (1:100,000 is good) would not only be a huge financial investment in the planning stage but also a physical one in the requirement of an extra bag full only of maps. The other option would be to use a GPS system for navigation but that would detract from the feeling of independence and adventure. Even after all this, the route might be amazing but would not have benefited from the local knowledge of those who design cycle routes.
The point of this long aside was that on this trip I became completely obsessed with signage. When I was following a signed cycle route, my peace of mind followed a pattern similar to that shown below. In short, I was completely addicted to the route signs. Upon seeing one I would get a rush from the renewed knowledge that I was on the right track and after a short period I began to wonder again if I had missed the next sign and lost the route. If there was not a sign for a long time, my symptoms would include excessive map checking and compulsive doubling back. There was no sweeter release than that little bicycle symbol in whatever colour the current country had deemed appropriate.
With this in mind it is no surprise that I really knew I'd crossed the border not when I saw the flags in the streets (this was during the football world cup of 2014) but when the style of the bike signs changed. And of course at the first sighting of that unmistakable black-on-white font of the German street sign. Coming soon to a word-processor near you.
I feel like someone forgot to cut the corners off.
Some signs are more philosophical in their advice.
Alas, some places that I found on the map in the evening were just too far off route to visit.
“There was some rain but I just called it lunch and polished off the Camembert.”
I had realised by this point how much unnecessary gear I was carrying and seriously considered swapping it all for a solid back-rack flowerbed.
"How's your crop of coiled snake trees this year?" The Archers c. 2030.
Don't hate me because I'm fabulous.
I took the train into the centre of Hamburg to avoid the suburbs and make it on time to meet a friend and a friend of said friend. He had kindly agreed to host us in his parents apartment near the neighbourhood of Eppendorf. Inexplicably, the houses did not look like centrifuges nor the lampposts like pipettes.
The three of us hired a Canadian canoe and went exploring the waterways of the city. This is an excellent way to explore a new place (and indeed to gain a new perspective on an old one), even when one is not in the middle of a bike tour and thrilled to be propelling oneself using arms instead of legs. Hamburg is a great city to see from the water so we continued the theme by jumping on a ferry and going around all the stops before alighting again at the one where we had boarded earlier on.
What I had not expected was the effect that travelling alone for a mere week would have on my speech. Not on accent, but on turns of phrase. I am a person who is quite susceptible to picking up phrases from friends who I talk to. In the preceding week I had only had some small talk with people along the way but had spent many hours in the aural company of various podcast hosts. Thus it turned out when I met my friend, that I had picked up some of the specific phrases but more generally type of mid-conversation humour from podcasters, most noticeably Helen and Olly of Answer Me This! This realisation started me thinking about my relationship with the spoken audio which I was listening to so much of. I had started to feel like these people were my friends. This is the appeal of the conversational format of shows like AMT! and the more serious Hello Internet. Because the hosts are friends with each other, listening to their conversation for several hours makes you feel like you are getting to know them. This is bitter-sweet company indeed, for while you gain a sense of companionship, it is a sad realisation when you have something terribly relevant or funny to contribute and you suddenly feel your utter lack of agency.
A fine spot to have a picnic while looking out over the Port of Hamburg and catching up with an old friend.
“I think my supermarket time is increasing, along with my cereal bar consumption. What can you do, I enjoy the foreign browsing.”
Until I actually crossed water on this one, I was convinced that these were just invented by the writers of Billy Elliot.
“I went the long way round after a man in the car park by the Billy Elliot bridge told me how “schoen” it was.”
Riding off absent mindedly with your earphones hanging down amongst your wheels will end badly.
Ditto for bungee ropes.
“The Ortlieb bags didn’t let a drop of water in. ... I really hope it dries up tomorrow, although I do feel more adventurous this way.”
When the infrastructure took a turn for the rural, I was glad to have a hybrid and not racing bike.
“Very un-wanky campsite too.”
I don't mind letting the hunger build for a while to find a good spot for lunch.
When budgets are tight, a saving can be made by putting up signs to let everyone know that the bike path is bad instead of actually fixing it.
Enough blank pages left?
“I write this as the sun sets to my left and my first sight of Denmark is in front of me across a few kilometres of water.”