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.]

Stein am Rhein

The summer sun sets late, this far north. At dinner, one of our hosts proposed a quick excursion to the nearby town of Stein am Rhein. Most of the group had explored the town the day we arrived in Ramsen, but two of us had missed the chance.

One of the guys in our group, when asked, had characterized it as “a cutesy town.” Which (seriously) does not do it justice.

With the shops closed and tourists dispersed, it was a rare opportunity to have the old town nearly to ourselves.

We learned that the deep red hue of the exposed beams in this style of building was originally a consequence of the oxblood used to preserve the wood (nowadays, they're painted).

The elaborate frescoes on the buildings depict the trades, or tell stories.

One could only wonder what inspired the panel showing Diogenes, in his ceramic jar, confronting Alexander the Great.

I would have regretted missing this historic place; I've never seen anything like it. And this visit, though brief, offered some consolation for the day's earlier disappointments.

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.]

Ramsen

Our tour begins in the town of Ramsen, where we're staying at a “velohotel.”

What is a velohotel, you ask?

It's a hotel that understands what cyclists need, and accommodates us. Typically that means a safe place to stash our bikes, maybe with a floor pump and some basic tools. Here, we have a bonus: A backyard with a clothesline, outfitted with clips. Post-ride laundry will dry in no time!

Some cyclists of note have preceded us at the Hotel Hirschen Ramsen. Team Leopard Trek stayed here in June, 2011 during the Tour de Suisse—including two pros I regard highly, Jens Voigt and Swiss champion Fabian Cancellara. A framed, hand-written thank you letter hangs in a hallway, and I recognized all the names, primarily from watching Le Tour de France.

First order of business today was to reassemble my bicycle. With time to explore the town on foot, I learned that the church dates back to 1796, but the congregation was established in the 13th century. The graves in the churchyard were carpeted with flowers and so well tended that one neglected plot made me feel sad; I couldn't walk away without pulling the weeds.

Next order of business: a test ride. In my street clothes, I blended right in with the locals. I didn't plan to to venture far, especially in the heat (88F degrees). Once I was on the bike, of course, I didn't want to stop.

The German border was just a couple of blocks away, but I headed out through the fields and skirted through some woodland, nearly to the banks of the Rhine. Exploring the unmarked local roads without a map, I was careful to note landmarks along the way. The tower of the town's church would guide the way home.

I turned back to darkening skies; the wind picked up just as I rolled into town, but the storms passed us by.

Zürich

Traveling with a bicycle, it's generally advisable to arrive a day or two before you expect to start riding. I've been fortunate in that (so far) my bike has not been delayed. Taking a direct flight also reduces chances for your bike to go astray.

Staying in a hotel near Zürich International, I was surprised to discover signs pointing cyclists (and inline skaters, and pedestrians) on a route to the airport. Things are different, here.

Other than visiting colleagues at the office for lunch and a tour, I had no real plan for the day.

Even though I don't speak German (sadly, not even a little bit), I wasn't concerned. Past excursions in Europe have built my confidence; you can get by pretty well with gestures and a smile, help from Google Translate, and ... lots of Europeans know some English (and are accustomed to mono-languaged tourists).

Google Maps helped me navigate by train (and foot) to the office. At last, I met some people I'd only seen on video screens. They were excited to recommend sights to see, and the sweeping view from an upper-floor lounge helped orient me.

I wandered off to explore the old part of town, generally surprised by the amount of construction everywhere. And cigarette smokers (everywhere). And, bicycles! Everywhere! The Velostation at the main train station offers secure bike parking and minor services. There were so many bikes on the racks alongside the station that I couldn't capture them in a single photo. (And there were more parked around the corner, in front of the station.)

Two passions in one picture: Am I a magnet, or what?

There were too many options for me to explore in one day, especially with jet lag creeping over me. I managed to cover more than seven miles, on foot. I figured out the routine at the post office, and a friendly clerk found pretty stamps for my cards.

I stumbled upon Predigerkirche at a lucky time: the massive pipe organ was getting a workout—it was almost too loud. What sound! I visited the Wasserkirche, strolled down to the lake and crossed the Limmat for another view of the Wasserkirche and the iconic towers of the Grossmünster.

The Zeughauskeller had been recommended for dinner, along with a less-touristy option. I went with the former, uncertain how I would fare at a smaller place without speaking German. Normally I would have tried to master some basics before the trip, but the past couple of months just didn't allow that.

At the train station, I was too weak to pass the Sprüngli shop ... nothing that chocolate couldn't cure, of course. The box itself was an engineering marvel, perfectly designed to hold my treat just so.

Not to worry, I'll burn off those calories in the next few days.

Tomorrow, I'll join the rest of the group in the countryside.