RRR – Day 3 – Just Keep Pedalling

Rheinau to Speyer

Breakfast was a simple, traditional affair which would have been unremarkable except for a minor and entirely accidental faux pas we’d manage to cause. I’d originally planned the entire tour as a solo ride, and later expanded the bookings to twin rooms when Christopher confirmed he could join. All of this had been no problem, or so it seemed. Except unwittingly we’d violated some unspoken rule – although we had been allocated a suite with two rooms, apparently by the nature of the booking we should only have used one of them. I’m sure we offered to pay for the extra bed although I don’t recall if that was accepted. Either way, the upset did seem to have died down by the time we kitted up outside and wheeled off, back towards the river, albeit with a slight twist.

Looking at our route with fresh eyes the night before I spotted a couple of missed opportunities. Firstly, the east bank was definitely the industrial side. And, secondly, we could enjoy the added novelty of a ferry crossing back to the French side and avoid the factory tour. So my GPS was once again loaded with an alternate route option, although with no automatic cue I briefed Christopher on the name of the town and the nature of the split as we set out for the Rhein once more.

The 35km of riding before the alternate split was flowing and fast, at least by my standards anyway. In fact we leapfrogged a sporty looking chap on a vintage rig a couple of times – who stubbornly refused to accept a wheel from such obvious mere tourists, despite not being completely able to break away from our combined speed when he pulled off solo. It was, in the moment, rather amusing – at least for us. The river itself was not devoid of interest and sights either. We looped around small harbours, filled with leisure boats. Through little copses, and across bridges above old gravel workings. All the time with the river nearby on our left, often directly beside us. We began to ponder the meaning of what appeared to be distance markers – which gradually increased with each kilometre we rode downstream. I forget the exact marker we first noticed – maybe around 165? Whatever the number, it did not seem enough to be all the way to the source at Lake Constance. We decided they must be from the start of the commercially navigable section, which at just beyond Basel would be about the right distance.

I was glad to reach the T-junction at Plittersdorf and see the sign left towards the ferry. The early shenanigans were definitely above my fitness level. Having planned intentionally easy days at the start of the tour I had not really bargained on spending the first hour or so of the day racing locals. Waiting on the bank for the ferry, amid a throng of other riders and barely a handful of cars was just the pause I needed. When it arrived, the ferry itself was an interesting affair – I forget the specifics but it was something to do with using the river current to propel the ferry via an arcing path and a rotating hull. Mostly oblivious to this though, we just enjoyed the view and chatted with other riders before disembarking for a last, brief unplanned jaunt along the last of the French bank.

There was a café right there as we got rolling again, complete with a large outdoor marquee – but it was too early to stop and the tent looked like it might be a tad warm in the rising heat of the day. So we rode on, sure we’d find something else before long. Which we didn’t – lots of mostly idyllic riding, but not a sign of a café. Sadly none of the next 15km of track are recorded on account of me forgetting to un-pause the GPS after the ferry. On discovering this, I mimic’d my father who at the slightest small hiccup on any trip had been known to declare “the whole day is ruined“. This not only seemed to amuse Christopher, but also seemed in keeping with my tour nickname of Sir Rob the Miserable (cunt). Creating this name had been a collective work over the last couple of days, which started with Christopher coining the “Sir Rob” in recognition of my English noble birth (entirely imaginary on his part of course). I pointed out that all knights were Sir Someone of/the Something. And since we’d agreed we might ride solo at times on account of me being occasionally moody, the “Miserable (cunt)” part just seemed to fit. Sorry, where were we?

In that missing 15km were: a random stop at a French family’s gate, which yielded more amusing language practice but no local eatery; a winding section around what we decided must have been carefully planted fields of gravel strewn junk; a snaking section through rail-yards (something my dad would have enjoyed; and the end of France (which we almost missed). Only after overshooting our junction and needing to turn back to the riverside path did we realise the town name of Neuberg am Rhein wasn’t very French sounding, even by Alsace standards. We were back in Germany now for the rest of the ride, and we were hungry. After another 7km or so of flowing cycle path one of us spied a sign to a tennis club which also indicated a stube (café) of some kind (I think we’d tried an earlier riverside floating café too which had been full). We’d almost reached the end of the alternate section by this point and were roughly half way into the day, so it was a very welcome stop. Food and zero beers arrived quickly, which were enjoyed in the shady garden area to the soft thud of balls being hit and occasional grunts from players practising on the courts nearby.

Soon after rolling out again we rode under the enormous bridge which our original route would have taken and crossed into what can best be described as Mercedes Daimler Truck Land. OK, officially we were traversing Worth am Rhein, but there were trucks, factories, and signs everywhere suggesting this more fitting name. I can see we stopped at an Esso garage nearby the main station for some reason, and I vaguely remember buying a coke – the day was now getting pretty warm, so maybe it was just for cool drinks. From there for the next 45km or so I just have vague memories of long sections of parkland and woodland cycle paths, occasionally along the waterside, or through small villages and towns. I do remember enjoying the riding a lot, but also suffering a niggling fatigue riding into a slight headwind. The early morning chasing and warmth of the day had drained me somewhat, and I dropped off Christopher’s wheel for some way. Which was all fine, as we’d already agreed – and I wasn’t really feeling cunty, just not up for pushing the pace.

Somewhere around 15km before the end of the day though we turned across a main road and back onto a quiet lane, where we were immediately me by a relentless stream of riders coming the other way. I joked out loud to Christopher that we’d hit the Speyer rush hour, causing the handful of riders I was passing to burst out laughing. Just as the rush subsided we stumbled into a literal oasis. We had begun to talk about a stop for ice cream, when a leisure lake appeared on our left with everything we needed – even a vintage Simpsons school bus to serve our needs, and an open lazy bench to relax and enjoy them at.

After a refreshing break it was just a couple more looping sections of path before we sighted the impressive cathedral of Speyer, and an equally impressive although much less expected array of planes and vehicles at the outdoor transport museum we passed. Pride of place being a Lufthansa jumbo jet perched high on a platform overlooking the neighbouring airfield. People were climbing stairs to go inside this amazing exhibit.

Our hotel was just a short way beyond and a little more run of the mill, although perfectly adequate once we’d sorted out a booking mix-up and got the twin room they had offered but not allocated. Taking the bikes to the room was a bit of a double edge sword, since we were on the top floor, but after a bit of wrestling we got both rigs up the twisting tiled stairs. Tempting as the Asian restaurant attached to the hotel was, we opted for a short walk into town to have a look around. The brewery with beer garden attached had, apparently, been a favourite of some former chancellor and it did very much hit the spot. Although I was flagging once the food hit my stomach, so we didn’t linger beyond the last of the sun’s rays casting their long shadows through the lovely old town.