Sick of the rain (Schleswig)

The heading says it all; today, for the first time during this trip (maybe for the first time on ANY of my bike trips), I found myself thinking that next year, I will think of something else to do for my summer holidays. The reason was nothing more exotic than getting tired, fed up and slightly mad at the weather. What had started as  slightly hesitant, freezing cold showers (still powerful enough to pierce my face with needle-like ferocity) on the short ride to the ferry harbour, calmed down to an almost enjoyable drizzle during my short visit to Flensburg, accelerated to a downpour that cannot be described by anything else than pissing down by the early evening.

Now, basically, I am of the opinion that complaining about the weather is useless. If only I had proper water-proof clothing (yes, they did sell this Gore-Tex outfit to me as waterproof, just like they had sold the previous two outfits), gloves and shoes, I would not really mind the rain. But the fact that after a couple of hours, all my clothes will be if not completely soaked, at least damp, does begin to affect my moods.

The ferry ride itself was enjoyable, as there was a group of 14 (!!) Danish road cyclists, ON THEIR WAY TO PARIS! They had the whole works: a back-up vehicle with two ladies looking after the catering, hotels booked for the whole trip and someone in charge of the route. And guess how long thy were budgeting for the 1200 km trip: 7 days!! Boy, did it make my snail-like progress seem futile. Then again, they did seem quite impressed by my solo trip, and after the initial shyness were full of questions about how, why and for how long I was doing it. And once again, the inevitable question arose: was I not afraid? I don't quite understand why people always ask me this question as one of the first things; do they really find the world such a scary place for a woman on her own?

I admit of course being afraid, or at least worried, at times when I am on the road. I can still remember the moments of sheer terror on the island of Hvar two years ago, when two men walked into my camp at night, deep in the countryside, with no-one else around for miles.. Or the tunnels in Bosnia, where every time upon entering an unlit hole in the side of a cliff I was unsure if I'd come out alive... Or some of the downhills in Slovakia, where the slightest bump would start the bike wabbling uncontrollably at 40 km /hour... So yes, I have been scared, but not often.

As soon as I reached the German side of the boarder, the route turned and finally I could now have the wind behind me. Thus, what had been almost an enemy now became a friend without whom I don't think I could have made it even this far. Having bought a detailed bike route map in Flensburg I could now follow an old trading route, once used by ox-drawn carts. This actually sounds more romantic than it really is, since the cobbled parts are really quite intolerably bumpy, reducing the speed to mere few km/hour. As the route also turned out to be VERY winding (whoever had designed it certainly had a soft spot for footpaths and steep hills), I had to abandon it quite soon, and head for the bigger roads. This of course meant that I had to try and figure out where exactly I was on the map, something that is easily overlooked when you are following a signposted route!

After some confusion and backtracking, I did manage to locate myself, and spent the next couple of hours pushing my way through the downpour. By the time I reached this town, only about 39 km from Flensburg, I was well and truly soaked, cold and more than slightly mad. Thus there was no alternative to finding a place to stay, and fortunately I located a youth hostel in the city centre. Tonight I will be sleeping between warm and dry sheets, and tomorrow making the final (and long!) approach to Hamburg, where I have alrady decided to stay until Wednesday. To my delight, there are milongas every night!