First day riding across western Germany
Some 260 miles [GPS says it was 279 miles] of sunny motorway riding has brought me here to a small hotel in the busy town of Wolfhagen. The only mishap on an otherwise smooth journey was forgetting to plug in the curly extension lead for my earbuds into the Garmin after filling up at a service station. I realised once I was back in the traffic. One end was fixed but the other end must have been trailing somewhere because when I eventually stopped by the turnoff I needed the plug had been wrenched off. Not only this but because I hadn't heard the last vital instruction I guessed the wrong route off the motorway and ended up in that familiar endless loop around a town as the GPS tries to put you back. The only snag was the slip road I needed was closed due to roadworks. But nowadays I try not to blame myself so harshly when I get lost like this. Its completely pointless stress.
Once I arrived in this town I suddenly remembered the atmosphere of these small rural towns in Germany - rural. The lady running the hotel was not exactly welcoming and we didn't speak any English. Lucky I have my spattering of Deutsch. As usual I fell asleep as soon as i touched the bed, troubled by strange noises. Ominously, just as I was arriving, a funeral party was filing in with meine grumpy host standing to attention holding cups of teas for the mourners. I think they have safely gone now. I'm drinking vodka now though, just in case.
I've just had a walk around this small town (it took 20 minutes at a slow pace). Its beautifully pretty in classic German way, with timbered buildings, church bells ringing and cobbled pathways.
But its incredibly quiet. Everywhere is closed and there is almost no one on the street. The only noisy place is the intersection outside my hotel which is a pity because there is a music school opposite with occasional wafts of student music.
As I eat my dinner of battered fish downstairs here in the bar a little girl in pink comes to my table and puts down her plastic toy house and spreads the people and their beds down all over the table talking herself through a story. She makes a ring ring sound as someone phones up the house. Outside there are the strains of violin playing from the music school opposite but for every phrase of notes there are ten minutes of ranting from a music teacher. There's a piece of metal on the road and everytime a smart BMW or Golf passes by its tyres jangle against this ominous piece of metal. A couple are eating outside, he smokes while his partner finishes her meal. They talk in hushed voices. Its nine o'clock and I'm tired but its still too light. These days seem too long now.
On trips like these I often find myself prey to fundamental self-doubt, along the lines of 'why are you doing this? Its not enjoyable, its just some mad test of endurance, peppered with tension and boredom'. I try to keep in mind my friend David's wise words: 'just think of yourself as traveling- not having a holiday. A holiday is something you're expected to enjoy.' So, I take each day at a time. The task is to reach the next destination and find somewhere to stay – and find something to eat and drink. I've programmed into my GPS – I hope – old german towns to the east of here – Wiemar, Jena, before I turn south then east again to cross the Czech border.