Wehra to Lake Constance
Clean, comfortable, quiet and with a never ending breakfast buffet – pretty much the headline items you’d want in a business hotel, and also coincidentally exactly what I needed. Better still, the door from the breakfast area out to the “not quite finished” bike storage area was unlocked, so I could rig my bike and leave it in view of my table whilst went on a few laps of the assorted goodies. Eventually, I had to admit there wasn’t even room for one more coffee, and so headed outside and wound my way back to towards the small industrial estate again (remembering only at the last minute to ride past reception and hop off quickly to to drop my key).
Wehr – 07:25
I had been looking forward to this section of riding from the moment it was planned. Having swung eastward, the track now followed the river up into mountains. Slowly heading away from the broad navigations and upstream to faster flowing waters and more dramatic scenery. Of course this would mean more climbing than the last couple of days, but even with that the overall elevation was modest. There was at least one section that I feared would have me walking – a steep incline away from the river. But that would be well into morning riding, and after coffee. What I did not expect was that the terrain would become so hilly so soon. After a short section along the river I found myself winding slowly up high banks left of the river. Some of the towns and buildings were old, almost seeming frail perched precariously over the river below. And across the other side were more old buildings, and at least a couple of castles. After a whole day on broad river plain and cruisy towpath I suddenly found myself pitching up short steep streets, some of them cobbled between historic looking buildings with exposed timbers.
The border here followed the river. Somewhere after Basel, without really noticing, I’d slipped back into Germany. After slogging up and away from the river to a high vantage point in Albbruck, the route turned right again and I sped back down to the water again. The town name was possible a clue (old bridge?) to where I was headed. After riding under the highway I began to cross the river – initially on a new, steel foot bridge. But once at a middle strip of land it became a much older bridge. The cycle path signs on the other side suddenly changed in style – I was back in Switzerland again. Looking back over my shoulder, it struck me that the little hut just this side of the bridge bore more than a passing resemblance to an old customs house. Looking now, I can see it is marked as just this on the map. Although oddly, there is also a Fahrradhotel Zollhaus between the 2 bridges have no recollection of seeing. Staying on an island in the middle of a river between 2 countries would have been a cool experience had I spotted it was there.
The riding from here was once again along the river with fields to my side. But the scenery was very different. This was just a narrow strip of land. Not far away, beyond roads, houses and the industry large mountains towered up from the valley floor. Up ahead was an unmistakable sight – the vast still sphere of a fast breed nuclear reactor. Anywhere else it might seem odd to be built so close to habitation. But in a country with so little flat land, you have to build things where you can. I’m not sure why I felt I shouldn’t take photos. It’s clearly marked on Google, with street view pictures and even 5* reviews of their tours. But in the moment I felt it may violate some swiss law on taking pictures of national infrastructure, so I refrained.
I’d be in on this side of the river, and in Switzerland for quite a while. And, aside from the stunning views, pretty little towns, and lots of woodlands were the punchy hills. None of them were ever long, but they came upon you suddenly and steeply. Shortly after crossing the river Aaire, one particular painful one nailed me and nearly had me walking as I rolled out of a town called Koblenz. Which was also news to me – it was smaller and prettier than I remember it’s Germany counterpart, although to be fair it was around 2am the last time I rode through there, and I’d done a 320km stint the day before. So I may not have been seeing it with my freshest eyes. Beyond, the river was mostly in view, sometimes in glimpses through the trees. And crammed into the valley with me were a railway (of course, this was Switzerland!) and a busy road. But I was beautifully insulated from all of that, on quiet lanes and cycle paths rolling up and down through the woodlands. It was delightful, and the town I’d targeted for coffee and cake was just ahead too.
Bad Zurzach – 09:45
My cue cards had led me to this as a likely spot for a stop. And my Germany isn’t totally rusty, so I knew the “Bad” in the name meant “baths”. What I had not expected was quite the scale of them – they took up several blocks in what seemed to be an enormous, and modern looking hot springs wellness complex. I wasn’t sure if I should risk pissing Yoli off by telling here what an amazing place I’d stumbled across (and ridden past, since caffeine and cake meant more to me at that point). I knew of course that I would mention it, which would likely cost me a trip back here sometime with her. It did look lovely though, so I guess that wasn’t a bad outcome.
Sure enough, in the middle of town a little bakery had tables and umbrellas outside, and an array of perfect little cakes inside. The coffee was every bit as good as the baking too. To top it all off, I enjoyed some company and lively conversation too. A fellow cyclist on an impressively rigged ‘bent (recumbent) pulled in for his morning coffee, and didn’t need to be asked twice to join me at my table and swap stories. I forget his exact itinerary, but this was his last day of his few days of touring, and some of where he’d been was where I was headed now. Rheinau was a town that definitely came up in conversation. I had noted down a possible riverside food truck near there on my cue cards which he was sure didn’t exist. As it happened, I did later spot it that day, or at least a sign for it, but didn’t go there to actually visit. After much discussion on routes, bikes, gear, and touring in general with some reluctance I rigged up and bade my farewell. The heat was rising again, and not far ahead was that steep hill that I had been fearing.
It turned out to be a little further ahead than I expected in fact. There was around 20km of jinking around through small towns and around highway junctions, and a couple of punchy little ramps up and around the hillside before I could see the main event up ahead. Or at least the hillside which needed to be got over, if not the actual road itself. A part of me hoped I’d misjudged it, and my route was in fact some lower version that cut around the edge of it. But inside, I knew I need to get over it. And on an unloaded rig, in normal temperatures, I’d probably even have looked forward to it. But in the stifling, airless heat on a heavy bike it did not look much fun, or even that doable.
And there was no hiding from the news it was iminent either. I carefully negotiated my way across a busy main road running from the valley to my right, down to the river below. After hauling myself up and around this junction, my route also led down to the riverside too. For a few, brief moments, I shot downwards on a quiet lane, surrounded by green. Flew through a hamlet, and then, when the lane ended, a cycle path dropped the remaining way to the water’s edge itself. It was a completely lovely little run down. I was enjoying it so much, I didn’t really notice the battle looming ahead until I was actually on it. Riding across a bridge over a small side stream, the path veered away from the river and across a grassy bank. Although a little steep, it didn’t look anything so I punched my way up it. Only as it reached the top of the bank did I realise my mistake. That little punch was the beginning, not the end.
At a parking area beside the river the cycle path became lane again, and that lane only went one direction, up. Again, I made the mistake of optimism – it wasn’t far to where it banked around beside a tree and seemed to flatten off. Once there though, I could see it grinding inexorably onwards and upwards thru vineyards. Somehow, despite heavy load and heavier heat, my determination held firm and the legs kept going. One final punch between houses, and I swung left into a village street. At this point two things need to be said. Firstly by normal standards, this was nothing. It was a kilometer of uphill on a gradient that varied up to around 12%. The only thing which made it a challenge were the conditions under which I rode it. And the other part to mention, is this was not the top. Another 2.5km remained still, albeit with a much shallowed gradient. In fact the second part would have been lovely, snaking around through wooded hillside. Except it was a busy road, with poor sightlines, and I was travelling slowly. So I was nervously aware the whole time of how little braking distance a fast moving car was going to have. I did myself to make myself visible as wide as possible around the bends, and despite tired legs, got myself up and over it as quickly as I could. Although I was kind of sad when it did come to an end. I’d enjoyed the last few hours jinking up and down along the foothills on the Swiss side of the river even with the punchy bits. Looking at the photos now, after the fact, I spotted a quaint little old railway station which I passed along the way.
Once over the crest and clear of woodland just there was a magnificent view across the countryside I was heading towards. In the distance I could make it the next landmark which I was looking forward to seeing. If your geography is better than mine you probably know about the Rhein Falls. But it was news to me that such a big river which I think of as placid had a waterfall on it. Now, barrelling downhill in the direction of Neuhausen I was keen to see it for myself. In fact, when buddies Christopher and Benjamin (also from Munich) had told me about it I had adjusted my route to go right past them. In the suburb of Dachsen, I veered left off my original path through a couple of lanes, before finally onto a very steep track to a footbridge across the river, which was so stunning it was worth a picture in its own right.
Neuhausen am Rheinfall – 13:00
Oddly, and I only notice it now on the map. Despite having crossed back over the river I wasn’t back in Germany. That pretty bridge was where the border also ran, carving out a small piece of Switzerland on this bank of the river. I mean the view as stunning – who wouldn’t want to keep that for themselves if they could.
And, along with a thousand other tourists, I snapped photos and video clips as reminders. There was no time or temptation to take one of the boats across into the spray of the falls. In fact, there was no temptation to hang around for lunch either. It was totally mobbed. So instead I wound my way slowly, up a steep road, away from the river towards an area I had never quite been able to completely figure out on Google.
By some combination of luck and hours of map studying, I’d picked the best of the 3 options. After a sharp ramp up into the town I passed the upper entrance of the outdoor lift I had spotted and would probably have needed to take if I got the wrong path. I breezed past the short concrete pier leading to it and kicked down into the pedals to get up the last few meters to the main road ahead. Again, what I found in front of me matched the parts I’d gleaned online. Across the road, and a few metres back downhill was a narrow entrance to a path. A footpath though, which I was also expecting, but not a long one. I wheeled across to it, dismounted and began a short trudge along the wooded path, a few of the town’s apartment buildings rising high on my left hand side, and the river roaring over the edge of the falls on the right. The latter being worthy of another photo, I paused briefly at a viewing platform. A short way beyond this the path joined up with others and became wide enough to ride safely. I’m not totally sure it was technically certain it was actually a cycle way, but it was wide enough for cars and service vehicles so I figured no one was likely to mind or be bothered by me slowly freewheeling along.
Aside from the extra river view though, it became a bit of a pointless venture. The riverside lane I had planned to ride along was blocked off and being dug up. The diversion that sent me on ended up along a busy road which appeared to serve industry and shopping centres, and went through a noisy and unpleasant underpass. When I was ejected the other side I had to slog my way back up to a main road which was only a few metres away from where I had left it to join the footpath. Luckily, at the time, I was only vaguely aware of the diversion and not how close it put me back to where I’d already climbed up to. At this point I began to wonder if I’d messed up not stopping for food in the busy, but obvious places. I seemed to be running out of town, with fewer choices of places to eat. I knew that would mean supermarkets and fast food places at some point, so wasn’t really worried though. Plus I could feel I was slowly heading back to the waterside again. And, after a final interesting loopy bit of cycle path to get under railway and highway, that was where I ended up. A kilometre or so more of riding through crowds along the river, the route opened up to a large plaza with riverside restaurants all around. My patience was thoroughly rewarded with a table in the shade right beside the river, next to a convenient tree to lean my bike.
Schaffhausen – 13:30
The view, and the food were both stunning. The dish I ordered was Flammkuchen – a recommendation from Christopher which immediately caught my eye on the menu. Lighter than pizza but just as tasty, and with a freshness from the spring onions – it was a perfect choice now the full heat of the afternoon was kicking in. Anything more substantial would have just sat like dead weight in my tummy.
There’s a very real danger that the rest of this entry just becomes a torrent of superlatives. In fact, I’m not sure I even know enough to come close to describing the majestic scenery I rode through for the next three and a bit hours. So I’ll just cover it here with the phrase “utterly superb” and try to stick to a factually descriptive account from here.
The cycle path along the river became noticeably more uphill, and the river narrowed whilst the waters seemed to become ever more clear and almost cartoonishly blue. I guess the absence of industry, and the more mountainous terrain meant there were a lot less pollutants being carried into the river. Without noticing, I crossed Swiss-German border four more times in the space of the 20km to Stein-am-Rhein. If you’ve lost track don’t worry, so I had. But for the record, I was now back in Switzerland and would be so for the remainder of the day. It’s almost impossible to avoid eulogising about the beauty of this little town – almost perfectly perched between the lake I was heading towards, and the river flowing from it. So I’ll just let the photos I took from the bridge do the talking
See what I mean. Perfection!
Lake Constance – 15:30
Leaving the river banks to ride along the lakeside did not diminish the insanely lovely views either. Sure, there were sections where the cycle route tracked away from the lake, and ducked over a rail line and through various housing estates, urban areas and even some light industry. But always finding its way back to the water’s edge and more jaw dropping views. Given all that wonder, it might seem strange that I stopped at a very ordinary roadside service station for water, juice and an ice cream. But if you know me, that won’t be surprising at all. I love riding and taking in the scenery on the bike. For pit stops though, functional, and adequate is more than enough. This one didn’t just serve up the required supplies – it also involved a lengthy chat with the cashier (who came outside to talk) and a fellow touring rider who pulled in from the other direction also in need of fluids. I should add that all of this took place under the welcome shade of the canopy, sheltering us from about 110 degrees celsius of sun. Ok, yeah, it was probably more like the high 30s or low 40s, but it felt like my skin was actually boiling. Thank heavens for that French sunscreen, which was proving more than a match for the onslaught of UV.
Münsterlingen – 17:30
The lakeside riding was longer and slower than I’d expected – or maybe the heat just made it feel so. Eventually though, after a near endless amount of zig-zagging, back tracking, crunching around and across parks and lakeside beauty spots I finally reached a right turn pointing straight up a short steep ramp to my destination.
Fuck that
I said to myself, and maybe even out loud. Instead I chose a turn which swung almost 180 degrees before taking a much more gentle gradient up to the main road above me. The B&B was almost directly opposite. It was relative affordable compare to other options I’d seen, which I was sure meant it would be somewhat basic. Which it was, but not in any way that made it unpleasant. The décor of my room was a little tired, but it had everything I needed. The bike had a safe parking space in what looked a very old part of the building. Almost more of a wooden clad barn cum shed than. It even had what appeared to be a live in handy man, who was extremely cheerful and very keen to talk about anything and everything. Supremely interested in the bike and my trip, in between random observations of what he did, why he was there etc. It feels a little uncharitable to suggest he may have been a (possibly) recovering alcoholic or maybe short of a marble or two. The owner mentioned he himself just got back from a trip and only opened up the hotel again in the last few days, and that the handy man acted as a sort of caretaker whilst he was away. The way this was phrased had a sort of “don’t mind him he’s harmless” air to it, although I may be straying too far into my imagination so I’ll leave the topic there.
Sadly the B&B no longer served evening meals (although I’d only learn just how much of a loss that was the next day). Instead, the owner directed me to an Italian restaurant two blocks away which served up just what was needed. A hearty bowl of pasta, a cold panache, and all in a shady garden under a canopy of large oak trees.
Today had been truly special, and as I wound down for the evening and pottered around my room I was looking forward to seeing the rest of this side of the lake tomorrow. Technically, I had completed the Rhein Path part of the journey. Once around the lake, I’d be heading across rural Germany for my last night on the road. Sat up in bed surveying the route, and the punchy hills, I also spotted another highlight. Around 20km before the endpoint for the day I would be crossing my track from TCRNo.5. I couldn’t really picture the town where the trails crossed, and wondered if it would be more memorable.