Easy living (Mauthausen)
Sometimes, I cannot believe my luck. Not only am I in the very fortunate position of being able to live my life exactly as I please, make trips like this one and not fuss too much about stretching every penny. In addition, thinking back on all my travels, both before and after cycling, I have been extremely lucky with the weather during the trips: Often, I have had weeklong spells of wonderful tailwind, moderate temperature and showers that always occur just when I am near a suitable shelter. The recent days' record heat, while being trying for sure, still feels like a gift compared to what kind of weather I left behind back home.
The biggest gift, however, is the overriding sense of happiness that has once again enveloped me. Yesterday, riding through the most beautiful stretch so far on this trip, in that narrow valley with brilliant sunshine, old forests and gently flowing river, I felt so overwhelmed with happiness that I almost cried. There were only cyclists on that road, and every one of them had the same, deliriously happy, slightly incredulous look on their face. It was as if we were all asking ourselves whether this really was true, were we really experiencing such a pure moment of grace and beauty?
An hour later, the rain clouds were back, the scenery changed into more open and less fascinating farmland, and the moon on upcoming cyclists' faces turned darker. The wind, in my favour but in their faces, became very strong. I felt sorry for them, but immensely grateful for not having to fight my way into such a storm.
The remaining 40 or so km to Linz were (literally!) a breeze, and I arrived still glowing with happiness, only to find a city full of stressed faces, hurried steps and hard gazes. It took me a moment to realise this was just the normal city life, that these people were not particularly unhappy, they just hadn't had the kind of a day as me and my fellow cyclists in that wonderful stretch of river valley.
I did my best not to let the mood affect me, but found the city tiring and clearly not the place for me to be. The air was all of a sudden very cool, and for the first time since I started riding a week ago, I had to put on my long sleeves and gore-Tex pants.
In the evening, I found my way to the nearby campsite, packed to the brim with cyclists. Funnily, we were filling the fenced compound up to the last square metre, while around us, a large park stretched empty and inviting for as far as the eye could see. It seemed almost as if we were some dangerous kind of wild animal that had to be kept locked in, so that outside, "normal" people could carry on with their lives.
Perhaps it really is a little like that: The happiness that we find in this way of life IS dangerous, as it questions the sense in how the rest of the society is living?
The biggest gift, however, is the overriding sense of happiness that has once again enveloped me. Yesterday, riding through the most beautiful stretch so far on this trip, in that narrow valley with brilliant sunshine, old forests and gently flowing river, I felt so overwhelmed with happiness that I almost cried. There were only cyclists on that road, and every one of them had the same, deliriously happy, slightly incredulous look on their face. It was as if we were all asking ourselves whether this really was true, were we really experiencing such a pure moment of grace and beauty?
An hour later, the rain clouds were back, the scenery changed into more open and less fascinating farmland, and the moon on upcoming cyclists' faces turned darker. The wind, in my favour but in their faces, became very strong. I felt sorry for them, but immensely grateful for not having to fight my way into such a storm.
The remaining 40 or so km to Linz were (literally!) a breeze, and I arrived still glowing with happiness, only to find a city full of stressed faces, hurried steps and hard gazes. It took me a moment to realise this was just the normal city life, that these people were not particularly unhappy, they just hadn't had the kind of a day as me and my fellow cyclists in that wonderful stretch of river valley.
I did my best not to let the mood affect me, but found the city tiring and clearly not the place for me to be. The air was all of a sudden very cool, and for the first time since I started riding a week ago, I had to put on my long sleeves and gore-Tex pants.
In the evening, I found my way to the nearby campsite, packed to the brim with cyclists. Funnily, we were filling the fenced compound up to the last square metre, while around us, a large park stretched empty and inviting for as far as the eye could see. It seemed almost as if we were some dangerous kind of wild animal that had to be kept locked in, so that outside, "normal" people could carry on with their lives.
Perhaps it really is a little like that: The happiness that we find in this way of life IS dangerous, as it questions the sense in how the rest of the society is living?
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