Yesterday was the classic case of Murphy's Law, and something all long distance solo travelers know will happen, just not when.
Monday morning weather was dreary and wet. When I got to town after a lonely breakfast at the empty b&b I discovered to my increasing horror that none of the of the "plastic money" I brought from America worked here in deepest Baden Wurtenberg. The post office won't accept Visa card. My debit card is dead in the water as the one network it was supposed to link with, well, doesn't, and in the entire town, no bank was willing to change anything but a single $USD 20. What the heck? did i wake up this morning in another continent? In Germany there seems to be a truly insane insistence that you pay cash for everything. Here in the home of the Euro. Home of Frankfurt, where they have an actual stock exchange.
It started immediately, with my bed and breakfast type accommodation, which expected over 225 Euros in nice crispy banknotes. Now, i'd chosen to stay there as it was a recommendation from trusted people. OK, whatever, no problem, just go to a bank right? i'd seen a big modern shopping precinct in the nonmedieval part of Schwabisch Hall. When I went into town to find a bank to restock, I found myself in a world that Albrecht Durer would recognize. Noone would give this foreigner her money. After being turned away by every bank and cash machine i visited i was, simply, 100% panicked. Eventually, after the intercession of the TI and being able to track down some stragglers from the wedding party, I managed to scrounge enough cash for Nurmberg. Lucky for me I had pre-purchased a 10 trips in 1 month German rail card so at least I had that piece of my trip sorted. But, Mr Murphy wasn't ready to let me get going just yet. Hell no.
I rode out of the mittelstadt following the TI map expecting to ride a few km to the Hessenthal Bahnhof and an onward bound train. Instead, somehow I found myself on the Kocher Jag Radweg, a 330km long distance bike touring route that starts in someplace called Aalen. And without knowing it, I was heading back to Aalen, not towards Hessenthal. Now normally as a long distance cyclist, I would be interested in this sort of thing. Just not today, OK? When finally I realized the mistake and confirmed with 2 people the correct direction I got a flat tire.
Oh yes, just kick me while I'm down. Once I stopped crying, I gave myself a good internal slap then wheeled my rig to a bike shop I'd happened to notice on the way. I prevailed on the mechanics to fix the flat. Now time to pay. Of course when I tried to pay 15,00 Euros on a credit card, it was nein, nein, nein. I don't get it. That shop was full of expensive bikes. Do the locals bring in bags of gold coins when they decide to buy a bike?
Oh my happy outing was just getting warmed up. Between me and the Hessenthal train station was an encounter with a social worker leading a group of at risk teenage boys on a bike ride. I made the mistake of asking this well meaning person for directions. After all, he had a bike map and actually spoke German, which I certainly do not. But no, I soon realised I had better navigational skills and an intrinsic understanding that a busy nearby road just had to lead to the train station. Of course the train station was uphill. And at a confusing roundabout, the social workers group caught back up with me, after actually accepting that the foreign woman was heading in the right direction. By now it was close to 4:00pm and I'd left Schwabisch Hall at 1:00pm. Forget getting the direct train to Nurnburg as I'd planned. There was just enough time to be sassed by one of the teenage delinquents who scathingly told me off, when I asked him: "do the abbreviations bf and bfn both mean bahnhof" using the universal retort of typical of teens the world over: "hey lady why do you expect me to know everything?"
Now remember I don't speak German.
I'd been having a rather difficult day. I certainly understood loud and clear what this little punk was communicating. All I can say is this: jugend, you have NO idea how close you were to being punched in your smart aleck mouth by this stressed out American cyclist nearing the end of her rope.
Thank goodness, at the bahnhof I found a helpful woman in the DB office who spoke English and helped me validate my Deutsche Bahn rail card.
All I had left to do was manoeuvre my loaded bike down a double flight of stairs, through a tunnel and up another double flight of stairs to the correct platform which of course couldn't possibly be right next to the station.
By now I was beyond caring. I am familiar with this situation. During my long distance adventure in France, I managed to get my full size fully loaded touring bike jammed in the non coordinated double glass doors of the only handicapped entrance of a station outside Paris. That takes a special sort of person. That person is me. Double staircases, no worries.Par for the course. Apparently there are no wheelchair users in either country.
At least the Germans have installed a metal track down one side of these stairs, where theoretically a cyclist can wheel the bike up or down. Of course, having seen these contraptions on a footbridge in Frankfurt I already know that whoever engineered this solution is a well meaning person who doesn't actually ride a bike. The angle of the rail means the bike will immediately shoot out of your hands and drag you with it down the steps. With a loaded or even semi loaded bike, the speed of descent is logarithmically increased by at least the power of ten.
I invented a new language of English mixed with German swearing as I worked my way from track 2 to track 3 at the Hessenthal bahnhof. But I managed not to break my leg. I'm OK with that.
When I finally reached my destination, after having a kind man carrying a ladder (I am not making this up) on the train from Crailsheim to Nurnberg, I was beyond wasted. I pushed Wm the Conqueror on its nice new 15,00 Euro inner tubed front tire to the nearest hostel, the the A&O Bahnhof. Honestly I'd have stayed at the Nurnberg Ritz if there was one closer and it accepted credit cards. I can't afford it. I no longer give a damn at this point. Gott Im Himmel, the A&O had room, gave me a bed in a 4 bed dorm for 22,00 Euro/night, and the 2,95 euro surcharge for paying by card felt like a deal.
I ordered a nasty frozen pizza at the bar in the hostel and it never hit the sides as I scarfed it down. I hadn't eaten or drunk a thing since leaving my b&b at 8am kand by now I knew it was beyond foolhardy to even think of leaving the hostel on my first day from sheer hell of the trip. I knew I would be courting Fate if I tried to actually find decent food.
I know when to cry "uncle".
Give me a few weeks and I'll just laugh about today. Just not yet. Today I am still asking myself, why are you doing this?
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