Wangen im Allgäu

The planned routes for today were, for some reason, cast aside. After studying the map, our leader was more inclined simply to follow his nose. This is part of the charm of these trips; chill, and go with the flow. There need not always be A Plan.

Everyone tried to stick together as we wandered about the German (and Austrian) countryside. If you examine our route, it looks like a well-planned loop. In the mind of our leader, perhaps it was. He wanted to visit Ravensburg, but was talked out of it; wisely so, given the distance.

It was a longer day than it needed to be, as we would lose one rider or another along the way. Sometimes they would catch up; sometimes they needed to be found. As we waited at one such point, I relied on Google Translate to good effect. There was a dirt path leading down a hill to a small chapel, marked with a warning sign. It looked like a private chapel, and I expected the sign to say as much. Not so! In effect, the sign warned that you would take the path at your own risk. The sign over the door invited pilgrims to pray in the small and quiet chapel; the interior was as lovely as the exterior was plain.

Our northernmost point was the town of Wangen im Allgäu, where we found a sprawling open-air market. One rider strolled off and returned eating a tasty sausage, which sent most of us searching for the same vendor. I studied what they had to offer, and of course I had no clue what they were. My eye kept returning to one of them, and so I chose “rote”. Best sausage I had during the entire trip. (And not just because I was hungry).

Not everyone wanted a sausage; the group had settled at a table in front of a bakery that has been in business since the year 1505. There was a basket of fresh bread on the table, untouched. Hungry, and imagining that it would go to waste, I broke off a chunk. Then I learned there is a sort of trick to this: They put out the bread without asking, and if you take some, you leave a euro in the basket. [OK.] As far as I was concerned, it was well worth it. The breads are amazing. I totally understand now why a German friend complains that nothing he's found in the U.S. compares.

We headed southwest, making our way to the shore of Lake Constance, where we were soon biking along the same route that I followed yesterday to Lindau. Close to town, the route zig-zags along some streets. I was briefly delayed on a short hill by a car; when I turned the corner, the rest of the group was gone.

Really? Earlier in the day I made a point of waiting for a rider who was having mechanical issues and had slipped behind. But no one waited for me.

We were on the outskirts of Lindau; perhaps they assumed I knew the way. The trail was busier today, with lots of slow cyclists cruising along. I joined the flow, and ended up popping out onto the island at the train station, near the harbor. This was the sort of place where the group might congregate, post-ride; but I didn't spot them.

For the day, 42 miles with 1,880 feet of climbing.

There need not always be a plan.