Bacharach to Cologne
The balcony of the hotel we had meant to be staying at, and the breakfast we enjoyed there was a fitting start to the last day of our combined tour. At the end of this leg in Cologne, Christopher would be getting a train back to Munich – he’d sadly used up his free time for riding, and it was a direct train home from there and so a good point to finish. With around 150km to ride, we didn’t dally too much – although we did get to savour the view. In doing so though, both of us realised we may have ended up in the better hotel from a sleep point of view. The steady rumble of trains running right beside us as we ate would have needed some industrial level glazing to silence.
The pavements were damp as we rode out, but somehow we’d avoided the rain and a clear blue morning greeted us as we made our way down the river. There was already more than a hint of headwind though, which I remember hitting us as we arced around one of many loops where the water threaded through a narrow channel between rising hills both sides. A number of castles were dotted along the highest points either side, one of which I snapped for the cover shot of this entry. These sections would also have been familiar from TCR No.5, except most of this particular stretch I’d ridden in the dark. I did recognise more than a few spots though as we made our way into the morning. In fact the point where we stopped for Christopher to phone home, roughly an hour and a half into the riding, seemed very familiar. I had the distinct feeling these same riverside benches were where I had stopped to eat a roll, but had ended up sat sobbing at the news that a fellow TCR rider, Frank Simmons, had been mowed down and killed by a car on the first night of the race. I shared this with Christopher as we started out again, in explanation of my suddenly more sombre mood.
Wedged in a tight valley, you’re never far from road or railway along this stretch, but the riding is no less glorious for that. It was made more enjoyable by the anticipation of sights ahead that I was looking forward to seeing again. Although it would have been more accurate for the next of these, Koblenz, to talk simply in terms of seeing it. Since it had been around 2am when I passed through before, and all I saw were cafes crowded with people, a few of whom had spilled out onto the pavement and were staggering around. Rolling through parklands and along grand avenues heading into the city was lovely, so much so that Christopher suggested maybe Yoli and I might consider moving there so they could come visit. One part though, around the Rhein-Mosel Halle was a confusing maze of looping roads. After not really spotting any “correct” way through we sort of busked it – hopping briefly onto one of the service roads, and veering across to a cyclepath we could see the other side. There must have been an easier more official way, but it got us out onto the last piece of path we needed to reach the end of this spit of land – the point where the Mosel and Rhein rivers meet, known as Deutsches Eck. As luck would have it, there was a summer fair in full swing. So after a quick photo of Christopher mimicking a statue in the park, we made our way to one of the stalls for coffee and cake.
I had very strong memories of what came next – the lovely old bridge across the Mosel once we’d wound back up into town, and then a long stretch working our way through a mix of new build residential and large factories, with rail tracks criss crossing our path out beyond the edge of town. Even “druggies corner” was still there – although in daylight, the 90 degree twist of path with a small homeless encampment beside it seemed less threatening. Maybe solo, in the night, I’d imagine it worse than it was. I did force Christopher to stop and take my picture outside the hotel in Kaltenengers where I’d had my first ever TCR night on the road – and probably bored him with tales of all the routines it involved practising for the first time (stinking up reception, drying shower washed gear with a twisted towel etc). From this point, having covered it in daylight before, the riding was properly familiar, which I’m sure I also droned on about.
The first of the really familiar bits came at the edge of the riverside promenade in Andernach. Twice now, once in each direction, I’d stared hopefully at the riverside footpath wondering if it was possible to sneak along. But this time, as before, the cycle route involved a detour up into the hill alongside. Only in this direction it was a much punchier and somewhat technical twisting path that climbed directly up away from the town once across the road. And from there squeezed it’s way between the concrete pillars of the elevated section of motorway one side, and the railway on the other. I’d expected to be pushing my way up but the legs held strong and the steepest part of the ramp was short. And beyond that, the track was more pleasant than I remembered, running through trees before ejecting us into a suburb above the river.
Also on the “memory lane” itinerary were a pair of tunnels – the first an ugly, graffiti strewn series of concrete ramps under the railway. The second I warned Christopher of on our approach. The path looped suddenly downward, onto a narrow strip of path beneath the concrete of the road above. Alongside it, beyond a bent and twisted fence, was what could charitably be called a stream, but in a different light might also have been taken as a sewer. I remembered being confused here the previous time as to whether this damp, low passage could possibly be the path. This time it just served as an amusingly different section ahead of our lunch stop in Bad Breisig. I have a vague memory of needing to bash across some wasteland in one direction or other to get to or from the supermarket. And also, as I waited for Christopher to emerge with his provisions, watching a pair of vagrants stealing super market trolleys to haul their baggage across the road to the station. And people dare to say bike-packing isn’t a glamorous life! We did at least find a bench with an epic view to enjoy our supplies – and reflect a little on the tour.
Probably to Christopher’s relief, soon after our lunch stop I ran out of “and this is where …” stories as we reached the point where my path on TCR had joined the Rhein. Although I did manage to sneak in an extra “did you know” snippet when we passed the site of the old Ludendorf bridge, a famous part of the allied advance near the end of WWII and subject of the film The Bridge at Remagen. I’d been kind of disappointed to not see if on TCR, so it was nice to finally visit this spot – albeit without the time to visit the museum.
There’s a bit of a blank spot in my memory just after here – which I suspect has something to do with what came soon after. I’m not sure if it was heat, or wind, or accumulated fatigue, but without really noticing it my body had started to struggle after lunch. As we rolled into Bonn it hit me like a wall – I fully bonked. We’d already talked about stopping anyway on account of me never having seen the former capital, before re-unification. But it became a necessity – I barely had the energy to ride up the steep streets away from the river and past the cluster of old municipal buildings. As we sat at the café, instinct told me it was a bad idea to eat anything substantial. I didn’t have the energy to digest it and would have fully crashed for at least a couple of hours. So I downed a couple of cokes, copious amounts of water, a banana, and a snack bar. It doesn’t sound like much, but I knew it would give me enough quick energy for the remaining 30km, and should also mean I arrived with enough appetite to eat something bigger.
Probably in part because I was recovering, but also because we were likely chatting a lot with the ride nearly over for Christopher, the remaining distance passed quickly – too quickly. And I don’t recall much in the way of details. One small bit I remember from looking at the track was a twisting curve of service road that led to a corner of industrial estate and parkland. There, beside the track was a guy with all the signs of being a fellow bike-packer pitching a tent, in fact I think we exchanged greetings as we passed. But as we rode on both of us remarked how odd it seemed – it was very early in the day to be calling a halt, and the little scrap of grass on the edge of the road was neither private nor scenic. Literally metres beyond, in the parkland proper, were dozens of nicer spots. Weird.
And with that strange sight in our minds, and a couple more bends of the river, the joint part of our tour came to an end. We rolled into the arcade of riverside cafes in Cologne, wound our way across to the one which was also my accommodation, dumped ourselves at a table, and ordered some beers to celebrate – plus a pizza for me to begin the refuelling process. I got about half way through it before admitting defeat and taking the leftovers up to my room and joining Christopher on the last little bit to the main station, which was just meters away. Although finding a cycle friendly way in took us a couple of attempts. One last bit of drama arrived when we realised we were at the wrong main station – Christopher’s train left from the one the other side of the river. Somehow, almost incredibly, he managed to jump a local metro train and make it across and onto his train with seconds to spare.
Slowly wending my way back it dawned on me that tomorrow I was going to have to get my mind back into solo-touring mode. And I wasn’t exactly sure I wanted too. The last few days in company had been such epic riding that a part of me wondered if the remaining 400km would be something of a chore. I cheered myself up my rebelling against the request of the apartment owners, and not chaining the bike up downstairs. Instead I dumped my heavy gear in the lift and hauled my unladen bike up the two flights of stairs to my room, taking great care of course not to cause any damage where I propped it.