Mainau

Transition day: we left Ramsen and headed for our next home base, in Lindau, Germany. For this tour, we often have a choice of routes—short or long. As much as I might prefer the longer adventures, my pace dictates the shorter route.

The day started with a light drizzle of rain. The German border was marked on this back road with the traditional yellow and black sign featuring the Bundesadler.

“Look at that crane!” a rider called out. There was a giant construction crane in the distance, nothing remarkable about that ... but he was pointing to the nearby field. “Oh, it's a stork!” I explained.

Somehow I didn't get the memo that our leader had dictated yet a third route for today, which our group had marked on their paper map. When we reached a point of uncertainty, I would have continued on the originally planned route, but the others were intent on the new route. Once I was certain it would still lead us to the island of Mainau, I settled in.

Because I was certain that I would visit Mainau—with or without the others. There is a tension for me between being a team player (riding with the group) and fully enjoying the sights.

Before we reached the island, I politely mentioned (several times) that if the others didn't want to tour the gardens, I wouldn't mind; I would find my way to Lindau. Solo.

We would need to travel, by boat, across Lake Constance to reach Lindau. Those who preferred an afternoon on the lake to an afternoon on the bike could take the slow boat. Conveniently, we'd been told there were boats leaving directly from Mainau.

Inconveniently, we discovered that we could not take our bikes across the bridge to the island. Four people, four bikes, and one lock (mine). I was able to thread the cable through three of the frames so we could all warm up with treats in the café. And, much as I had expected, the others decided to skip the island and continued on their way.

I strolled through the gardens at a leisurely pace, covering about three miles. I never imagined that rose bushes could grow so large.

I watched children rafting around on a playground that would simply not exist in the US. [Can you say, “liability?”] There was also some unexpected history, a memorial for 35 French former prisoners of Dachau who died at a hospital here after being liberated from the concentration camp in 1945.

The timing for this visit was not optimal; spring flowers were being torn out, and the full effect of the more dramatic features was muted because the plantings were too new. I had a proper lunch, checked the boat schedule and ... uh oh, time to get moving.

I thought the slow boat option might be fun, and it would certainly eliminate the need to navigate alone to Lindau. Unfortunately, the slow boat would be ... really slow. It would take as much time, or more, as I'd need to bike it.

By now I had come to appreciate the ever-present directional signs on the trails. I knew I wasn't far from the harbor, and the arrow toward Konstanz included an icon of a boat.

I didn't know that the sign would lead me to the ferry terminal—the passenger boats docked elsewhere.

No problem. I could take the ferry to Meersburg and bike it. There would be bike route signs; I'd just need to follow the signs from one town to the next, until I reached Lindau.

Friedrichshafen, 19 km—that's the right direction. (And I could check my progress, and whereabouts, from time to time on my phone.)

After 54 miles and 1,142 feet of climbing, I rounded a corner and stepped off the road upon reaching Lindau Island. Now I could tap my phone to navigate to the hotel ... which, as it happened, was right across the street. [Dumb luck.]