It wasn’t the sound that I wanted to hear. I was awake early. It was still very dark outside, but I could hear the unwelcome sounds of that ‘pitter patter’ on the small skylights of my attic room at the Pension Offizierskasino. It was still very early though, and I hoped that the rain would ease before I had to make my departure.
Sadly, that wasn’t the case. I stayed in bed until 7am. It was still dark, but I knew that by the time I packed up and loaded my bike, it would be 8am with the dawn rolling in. I knew I had a long day ahead, and a few ferry crossings plus the usual confusions over which road to take. I wanted to be on the road as soon as I possibly could. Sadly, the Pension Offizierskasino didn’t offer dinner or breakfast, so the plan was to get away at 8am and find one of those nice ‘backerei’s that are common to all German towns and villages.
I don’t mind it raining when I am already cycling. But to pack the bike in the rain, and head off into a gloomy wet and cold morning is not the most enjoyable experience. But ride into the gloom I did. There was no other life at the Pension Offizierskasino. I left the key at the reception. All was in darkness. It is an unnerving feeling finding my way through this ancient, dark building.
The bike rolled the 2k or so back into the main centre. It was Sunday of course, but what struck me was that there was not another person in sight. The place was completely deserted. The Backerei was easy to find, and I ordered the standard two small baguettes with ham and cheese, and a lovely coffee. The time came to hit the road, and to confront the challenges of the day ahead.
By the time I found the beautiful bridge back over to the left bank of the Rhine, I was already up to almost 5k. Many of these northern German towns have significant Roman ruins. Fort Blucher was marked on my map at the left side of the bridge, but the fog was so heavy the visibility was almost zero close to the river. As I hit the road north though, I could see the massive aqueduct that was almost as big and long as the new bridge. I took the photo, but now realizing that keeping the camera dry will be a major problem.
The entire ride today was almost all rural. The rain never stopped. The path was mostly good, but because of the rural run, the path was very often covered in mud or at least wet filthy surface that throughout the day just built up on the bike, my legs, and the panniers. Within no time my feet were wet, and as the day progressed, the damp rose to my knees. My shoes eventually became soaked. I just had to stay moving as much as possible.
The path took me into Xanten. It was a beautiful German village with strong evidence of Roman civilization. It caught me by surprise because it would have been good to read more about it before coming. Just as I exited the town, I stumbled onto the almost intact Roman fort which also takes its name from Colonia, the mother to the 1st Century Roman Emperor Nero (who fiddled while Rome burned, and who was responsible for a season of violent persecution of the early Christians). Cologne carries her name.
Three fit Germans who were out cycling, turned and came back to have a chat. They seemed to have all the time in the world. I was happy to chat briefly, but in the end I had to excuse myself because I knew what lay ahead of me. One was Dutch, and gave me the bad news that it was further to Arnham than I had anticipated. It would prove to be my longest day!
The ride was lovely though, despite the cold and the constant rain. It would not be everybody’s idea of a good time, but touring cyclists have to accept the good with the bad, and although cold, wet and occasionally miserable, it is all part of a satisfying experience. The path occasionally went to gravel, which meant puddles and mud, but these sections did not last long. The bigger risk was the manure on the path, or just the now wet dust that gets carried on the path from the feet of animals, which were all along the ride today. This also meant dozens of cattle gates and small grids to ride through, which increased the chances of the bike slipping on the mud and metal around these gates.
I do recall thinking that as the computer showed 30k, I still had almost twice that distance yet to go. The bike was not rolling as well today. I sensed I was feeling the toll of the previous 7 days of solid cycling, plus the cold wind was coming from the north for the first time, which meant into my face. My gloves were now ridiculously wet, but ironically it was warmer to wear them, despite dripping wet. It was a pain though to keep taking off the right glove to use the camera. For a long time I chose to have a cold hand rather than frequently taking off the glove, and then struggling to put a wet glove back on.
The track kept reasonable proximity to the river, and was almost entirely through farms and rural areas, often just tracking around the many villages along the way. Somewhere up near Wardt and Vynen, I got hopelessly lost and ended up a long way down a private country road, muddy of course that was the entrance into a family farm. I could never work out how I miss the signs, but my senses tell me that its all wrong, and in this case it was very discouraging to turn around and have to back track. This cost a few kilometers which added unnecessarily to the day’s total.
Once I made it to Grieth, the bikeway really opened out, with long straight stretches where I could really let the bike fly. Often though the bikeway was bumpy with tree roots pushing up the surface, so I preferred the actual roads. The roads were smooth, and the traffic not that heavy. The kilometers mounted now, and it was a good feeling that I was closing on Arnham. It was tempting to stop and change my socks, but while the cycling was good and fast, I just kept pressing on. I was however, very wet and frozen up to the knees!
There were a series of small villages – Griethausen, Wardhausen, Duffelward, and Keeken – all along a near straight rural stretch on the long final run to Millingen at the German/Holland border but which was also the location of the ferry to cross to the right bank of the Rhine. I arrived at the ferry dock at 1:20pm at the 70k mark. There was no sign of a ferry, but at the top of the long ramp there was a rather elegant café that had a lovely fire going inside.
As I was parking the bike out front, the manageress came out for a smoke. She was amazingly hospitable, giving me the seriously bad news that the ferry only runs every two hours, and I had just missed the 1pm departure. She insisted I come inside to a seat at a table nearest the fire. I was embarrassed by my wet and very muddy state, but she was not fazed. I insisted on sitting on a towel, but no she gave me a rather nice blanket. ‘Welcome to Holland’ was the way the young waiter greeted me. I was astonished, not having realized that I had actually crossed the border. There was no sign. I had left Germany, a country I have come to love very much. I now had to switch languages!
I enjoyed coffee, and a small meal of ‘frittes’ and a fried Kroket, apparently a local dutch dish of cow meat. It looked like a baked ‘sav’, but when I bit into it I was surprised that it was like a solid chocolate mousse. It was then explained that it was a paste made from the parts of a cow. I didn’t ask any more questions! The café had wifi. I changed my socks and leg warmers and gloves. I think I could have filled a glass with the water I wrung from my wet gloves.
Finally 3pm came around, and I was delighted to see the little ferry come into the dock. I was the sole passenger. It was a short 3-5 minute trip. I now had 20k to go, but was rather lost trying to understand a whole new set of signs in Dutch which is much harder to read than the German. Within 10k I came to the second crossing, which was waiting for me. This was a mere one hundred metre crossing. I was the only passenger again. The ferry driver was young and excited to have an Aussie on board. He even offered a ‘free cup of coffee’ but I was keen to get going. Darkness was not far away now. It was almost 4pm.
I was now on the home run. The rain was incessant. The temperature had not risen above 6C all day, at one point it was 5C, the coldest day by far. I was 10k short of the famous city of Arnham which became more famous from ‘Operation Market Garden’, the disastrous attempt in WW2 by the Allied armies to break through from Belgium into Germany to bring an early end to WW2. The movie ‘A Bridge Too Far’ tells the true story. The Allies, under the command of General Bernard Montgomery, had to take a series of five bridges between Belgium to Holland, the bridge over the Rhine at Arnham being the final bridge. This was to open up a ‘highway’ for the Allied armies to break straight through into Germany. It was literally ‘a bridge too far’. They managed to take the first four, but hadn’t banked on the crack German panzer Division taking respite in the forests around Arnham. The thousands of paratroopers dropped into fierce resistance, casualties mounted to the thousands killed and injured, and thousands taken prisoner.
They failed to take and holds the bridge. The Operation was the greatest Allied disaster of WW2.
I could now see the bridge! I was rather excited about this for two reasons. The bridge was famous. To stand on that historic bridge which also features in the movie was something I had long awaited. It also meant I had finally arrived, and I could get a warm shower!
I lingered on the bridge, taking the photos of the location of the fiercest defence of the Germans to defend the bridge. It felt a great accomplishment to conclude a day like today. It was now just on dark, and incredibly it took me at least another 30mins to find the Hotel. Arnham is a bustling city. To negotiate my way without a map was extremely frustrating. However, I managed to stop and ask the right Dutch woman who spoke great English, and within no time I was outside the Best Western Haarhuis Hotel.
It was far too good for a muddy, saturated cyclist. The girl at the reception could not have been lovelier. No, mud didn’t matter. She showed me where to park the bike. She welcomed my mud covered, dripping bags into her reception area, mud was no problem. I assured her I would be careful in the room – it was all ‘no worries’.
Everything had to join me in the shower. The Ortlieb panniers are water proof. It resembled a Chinese laundry, with clothes to be washed and dried in what is a very small, cosy room (ok, it was cheap!).
Today was a great day. The clock finished at 95k in the dark. I actually considered doing another lap of Arnham to make up the 100k for the day, but thought that a hot shower couldn’t wait that long! Today had been a real test of endurance, but I was never discouraged or down in spirit. I loved the experience, and rose to the challenges that were not infrequent throughout the day.
Tomorrow I get to meet up with Julie at her Conference which is about 40k from Arnham. It may be difficult to get there, but that’s tomorrow’s challenge. Tomorrow my first objective is to visit the Oosterbeek WW2 Commonwealth Cemetery which is about 20k outside of Arnham. There are four Australian airmen buried there amongst to approximate 2000 British paratroopers and military.
By the time I arrive at Julie’s Hotel at Luteren tomorrow afternoon, I will be missing my trusty Aussie flag.
Until then, I send my love from the banks of the Rhine at Arnham, in view of the famous John Frostbrug (John Frost Bridge), named after Major General John Frost, commander of British forces who temporarily took and defended the bridge, but failed to hold it.
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