Feldkirch

Time to move along, into Austria—my first visit.

We got a close look at the unusual Sonnenkönigin at the harbor in Bregenz, where we waited for the arrival of our co-host (who chose to shave off some distance by taking a boat from Lindau). She's an expert navigator, with a spiral-bound book of cycling routes, but nonetheless led us a wee bit off course. When I pulled out my phone and pointed to the clear blue dot on the map, I won another convert. “You have to show me how to do that on my phone!”

Colorful bikes were planted at each end of a bridge, encouraging cyclists to sign up for some friendly competition, racking up the miles this summer.

For the most part, our route followed the Rhein, crossing it a couple of times.

We happened upon a café along the Alter Rhein on the outskirts of Lustenau that really welcomes cyclists. There were few parking spots for cars, but enough racks to accommodate a cycling event. The racks sponsored by a brand of cigarettes were ironic. There was also a standalone building with restrooms, much as you'd find in any of our public parks, with one notable difference: lace curtains on the windows.

I ordered “ein apfelstrudel und ein nusskipfel,” apparently convincingly enough that the server responded in German. (Uh oh.). I kind of got the gist, that it would be a few minutes for my buddy's strudel (probably because they'd warm it).

We made our way south, toward the Alps, reaching our destination early enough to allow for some exploration before dinner.

Feldkirch is a busy city, a curious mix of old and new. Medieval buildings, modern roads with undercrossings for pedestrians and cyclists. A friendly passerby tried to chat with me; we had no language in common, but I understood enough to get that English is taught in school these days, but wasn't during his time.

With the opportunity to order tonight's dinner from a menu, I chose a traditional veal schnitzel, with white asparagus and potatoes. For dessert, a luscious Austrian specialty (with a name that rankles modern sensibilities), Mohr im Hemd.

A flat and easy stage today, 33 miles with a mere 520 feet of climbing. Definitely not a calorie-neutral sort of day ...

Lindau

A rest day, at last. Some of the group went to Friedrichshafen to visit the Zeppelin Museum—by bicycle. Some just don't need a rest day.

I, on the other hand, was happy to have a day off the bike. It was a perfect opportunity to explore Lindau, and a beautiful day for it. Equipped with a pamphlet highlighting historic sights, I headed first for the harbor.

I climbed to the top of the “new” lighthouse, the perfect place to admire the town. The roof tiles of the 13th-century Mangturm (old lighthouse) glistened in the sunlight.

I found the Peterskirche, more than 1,000 years old and now a war memorial. Another visitor flipped the switch to illuminate the frescoes (aha!), and then I understood he wanted me to switch off the lights when I was done.

The Diebsturm, nearby, must have been especially punishing when it served as a prison.

I found the Lindavia Fountain, and admired the interior of the Stephanskirche with its 200-year-old pews.

The bookworm in me was awed by the books on display in the old town hall, including 17th century editions of works by Copernicus and Kepler. Facsimile copies of some books were laid out for anyone to turn the pages. Originals were behind glass, climate-controlled; but what a rare treat to see them!

My route was far from efficient: along the way, I did some shopping and met up with one of the guys from our group for lunch in a Biergarten near the harbor. By the time I was done, my walking tour had covered nearly seven miles.

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.

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.]

Engen

There was a general plan for today's route, but some details were known only to our leader. A visit to the town of Engen. A steep climb to the what's left of a castle.

It was a long day.

We stopped at a café (Jägermühle an der Aachquelle) alongside the Aachtopf, where I was delighted to enjoy a slice of laktosefrei cheesecake. That's a treat I've not seen before, and something I certainly wouldn't expect to find in a small-town bakery/café. The Aachtopf feeds a tributary of the Rhine, the Radolfzeller Aach. I was fascinated by an adjacent covered bridge with some sort of apparatus for managing the water's flow.

Our little group was strung out as we approached Engen, each following the rider ahead, when somehow, somewhere, the number two rider lost sight of the leader. The rest of us followed blithely along—for miles—before stopping to admit that he was certainly not ahead of us. He must have taken a turn that he assumed we would take ... but we didn't.

The other folks in the group were veterans of these European tours, well-versed in navigating with paper maps. But a paper map can't tell you where you are, unless it's detailed enough and you're standing at some recognizable spot. I pulled out my phone, opened Ride with GPS, and pressed "Show My Location." A blue dot confirmed that we were well off the planned route, having continued too far along the bike path.

The next question was: what to do? My preference was to head back, re-join the route, and continue on our way. We had already lost a lot of time, and I was looking forward to exploring the remains of that medieval castle (Hohenhewen). Our leader didn't answer his phone.

The others kept trying to call. When we reached the turning point (so close to the castle!), they made contact with the leader's wife, who told us he was waiting for us in Engen, which we had passed many miles ago. The rest of the group wanted to find him. I reluctantly agreed, because it seemed better for us to stick together.

“He's waiting at the highest point in the town,” she said. [We didn't find him.] We waited there. We split up, scouring the old town on bike and on foot. [We didn't find him.] Not surprisingly, he had given up on us by then and had left.

Having lost too much time, we could not visit the promised castle. I studied the detailed map on my phone to find a sensible route back to Ramsen. [Thank you, Google Maps.] A complicated confluence of streets in Gottmadingen confused me and I led the group astray, but we were able to loop back and navigated it more successfully on the second try. [I was carefully upholding that tradition of getting lost.]

Hungry, we stopped at a market near Hilzingen. I picked up two rolls, a package of sliced salami, a peach, and a chocolate bar for €3.24. [That will be the cheapest meal of this trip.]

Several mistakes were made today. When he mentioned that we would stop at Engen, our leader assumed we understood that meant the old part of the town. This visit was not on the pre-planned route, so once we lost him, we couldn't guess where to find him. The critical error was that he made a turn without ensuring that we were still with him. Then we rode much too far before accepting that we had lost him.

I was disappointed to miss the main attraction, the ruins of the castle. Had I been alone, that's where I would have headed. Instead, I saw the hill only from a distance.

Still, it was a good day of riding (40 miles, with a scant 1,400 feet of climbing), with only a touch of rain.

Rheinfall / Blumberg

The church tower is right outside my hotel window and fortunately, the bell is silent at night. This morning, the ringing roused the roosters. No matter, we'd be getting an early start anyway. I've traveled with most of the folks in our group before, but there are a few faces new to me—including a couple who ride at my (slower) pace.

Accommodations for cyclists are not an afterthought, here; they are by design. If there is a bicycle lane on the roadway, you might find it only on the uphill side (which makes sense).

Separated, paved bike paths commonly parallel busier roads. The border between Switzerland and Germany is very irregular in this area, and often imperceptible on a bike. The rolling farmland reminded me of rural places in the Bay Area—except that, here, the hills are oh-so-green.

The first attraction on today's loop was the fast-moving waters of the Rheinfall. Splashing, misting, tumbling over rocks—water, cool, beautiful water. That did not remind me of the parched Bay Area, with our extended drought.

Our intermediate destination was the town of Weizen in Germany, where we would hop on a steam train (bicycles and all) for a scenic little trip. We followed a dirt trail alongside the tracks at the edge of the woodland to the station. The tracks appeared unused until we reached Weizen, where some incongruous corporate office buildings popped up seemingly in the middle of nowhere.

All aboard! We lifted our bikes into a separate car and found our places on the wooden seats. The train criss-crossed the valley, heading circuitously uphill to the town of Blumberg. We passed through an area where a tornado (?!) had leveled whole sections of the forest three weeks ago.

For this year's tour, our leader had shared the daily route plans in advance. Garmin aficionados had loaded them into their devices, and I had worked out a similar solution for my smartphone. A subscription to Ride with GPS allowed me to pre-load the routes and save them on the phone, along with all the underlying map details—perfect not only to minimize the use of cellular data, but to ensure I'd have it all even if my phone had no signal.

That's how I knew our leader had not shared a plan for returning to our hotel in Ramsen. But I also knew that somehow, it would work out. The faster cyclists relied on their Garmin devices to plot a route. The slow pokes stayed with the leader (and, took turns making sure no one was dropped). For much of the return, we followed the river Biber; as we approached Ramsen, I recognized some of the territory I'd explored on my test ride.

Country roads here are often unmarked; when there is a sign, it typically points to the next town (and maybe includes the distance). The roads can also be quite narrow, and it's not surprising to meet the occasional farmer on a tractor. At one point, I assumed we were on a bike trail when ... along came a bus (!) in the opposite direction.

We biked 51 miles, climbing more than 1,800 feet along our route. Having been off the bike for essentially the past two months, I have a lot of catching up to do. [Literally.]