clairedavieswriter

I’m not going to sugarcoat it, the wind was hard going at times today. These guys were whizzing round:

And on the many long, straight, exposed stretches it was brutal:

The other challenge today was dodging the showers. I should say that I’m not a total fair weather cyclist: if it rains when I’m riding with a group at home, I just get wet. But one of the advantages of travelling alone and with all day to reach your destination is that you don’t have to. Today trying to stay dry often felt like a game of musical chairs, where the chairs were any kind of cover, and the rain came when the music stopped. Reader, I think I won. This was our first ‘chair’:

And I’m sure you’ll understand this was necessary to secure my second:

Well, what would you have done, if you’d seen this looming on your right?

For obvious reasons I particularly enjoyed the parts of the route that were out of the wind and not dead straight, like this stretch through woods:

Where Bernard enjoyed a peaceful moment:

This wasn’t quite as peaceful (yes that’s a freight train):

But a short distance later we came upon this lovely spot, where it seemed rude not to take a break, as suggested:

After so many days out in rural emptiness, I also enjoyed passing through small towns every few kilometres, first because human development is generally more interesting to me – and who doesn’t love little corners like this:

And second, for the potential for encounters with people. I had a long, very one-sided ‘conversation’ with a spritely older lady (must have been in her 80s) outside a supermarket in Arnum. I was packing my lunch away in my panniers when she appeared on a very shiny step-through bike.

‘Schön‘, I ventured, eloquently. She agreed, looking pleased. ‘Neue?’ I suggested.

And then she was off. There was no stopping her. As far as I could tell, yes it was new – she’d bought it to replace a bike she’d had for 30 years (or 13, or 3); she loves the pedals (no idea – they looked like basic flat pedals to me); you can’t be too careful about locking up at the shops; and recently (or maybe years ago) she (or someone else) fell off and bruised her left hip and knee; but overall she’d rather ride her bike than drive a car. There was a lot else besides that but I’ve no clue what it was about.

In all this time I’d made what I hoped were appropriate noises but not offered another word beyond my two opening bids. She didn’t seem to notice and luckily didn’t ask me anything in return, or I would most definitely have been rumbled.

Speaking of cycling in towns, a shout out for these brilliant gadgets that cyclists use to summon a green signal at a crossing (they have them in the Netherlands too): you just pedal up and lean against them till you see this message:

And speaking of urban planning, I was surprised to learn that the statue atop this column by the Maschsee lake in Hannover was a piece of Nazi-era art. The figure of a torch bearer was added to the column in 1937, as a tribute to the 1936 Berlin Olympics. An inscription on the column glorified the Nazi state: the swastika was removed in 1945, but everything else remained.

Incidentally, it was pointed out to me (thank you Simon) that the large red piece in the foreground is by the American sculptor Alexander Calder. Gloria Google tells me it’s called Le Hallebardier. It was donated to the city after the artist’s death and placed here as a deliberate modern contrast to the column:

But my highlight of the day was the unexpected delight that is my destination.

One of the things I like about these end-to-end tours is that the line I draw through a country pays no heed to tourist sights, which means I can end up in some quite ordinary or off the beaten track places. Few foreign tourists would choose to visit Hannover, for example, not least because guide books suggest it’s the most boring city in Germany. But that depends on your criteria. From the short time I spent there, it looked like a very pleasant place to live. It was certainly a nice spot for a 48 hour stopover.

I had no preconceptions about Einbeck, my destination today and it didn’t feature at all in my Germany guide book. I’d assumed it would be a bit grotty. So imagine my surprise when I pedalled into this glorious space this afternoon:

Everywhere you look there are painted wood houses.

And my ‘pension’, which had seemed nothing special in its own Booking.com description, turns out to be a cultural centre: Bernard is billeted in the ‘concert room’ downstairs, I’m in a lovely light room two floors up, and when I returned from supper there were folk doing ballroom dancing on the first floor

Tomorrow I’m back in a tent, so I’m off to enjoy the luxury of a warm bed while it lasts.