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Sew Ups I was still tired from our four country excursion and in no hurry to get moving. Our forest hide-a-way was shady and cool. The 9:00 a.m. church bells rang for a solid fifteen minutes. No one slept past nine in that village -- even the late night party animals must have been woken. No one could use "I never heard the church bells" as an excuse for not going to mass. We returned to the bike path we had departed in Palzen and followed it along the slow moving Moselle River. Extensive vineyards across the river in Luxembourg blanketed the sidehill like a patchwork quilt. The towns with high church steeples added to the sylvan cycling. Forest, river, vineyards, quaint towns and no car traffic -- that was difficult to beat. The flat terrain made for easy cycling and brought out plenty of bicycle riders of all ages, sizes and shapes. A youngster with a spring mounted head rode his first two wheeler. His neon yellow helmet. bobbed up and down over his eyes with each pedal stroke. One extremely fat guy didn't have luggage, but he had saddlebags. We encountered about two hundred cyclists throughout the day on bikes ranging from single speeds to Aero racers. We were having such a good time we missed our turnoff along the Sure River to Holland. By the time we figured out we were lost we were well on our way toward the middle of Germany. A kindly old man (who sounded like an aged Arnold Schwarzenegger) noticed us poring over our maps -- both our bikes pointed in opposite directions. Neither correct it became apparent as he came to our rescue. He led us over the bike bridge and pointed us in the right direction for Holland before waving good-bye. We still had trouble finding the turnoff he mentioned, but on the third try we succeeded. The bike path ended. Highway 418 was quiet and peaceful above the "is it moving?" Sure River. Leaves on the water appeared stationary. At Echternach we stopped to again peruse the map. A police car with two officers pulled over. "There's a bike path three hundred meters from here that goes all the way to Luxembourg," one said. He went on to tell us a bike path on an old converted railway went right into Luxembourg City and assured us the city wasn't too big to do on a bike. "He once did one hundred twenty-five kilometers in five hours," his partner bragged for him. The next day was Liberation Day in the rest of Europe. I asked "Is it a holiday in Germany tomorrow?" "No," the German officer ruefully noted. Oops. It was then that I remembered the Germans had been the bad guys during the war. Guess they didn't celebrate losing -- maybe in another fifty years? What we like about cycling in Germany was that restaurants had outside terraces beside the bike paths with plenty of bike parking. Riders stopped for a beer and sat outside in their sweaty cycling gear watching others pass. It was not as prissy as anything we had seen in France. Gak, the French would have had a fit. We passed many great smelling barbecues. We had seen more picnic tables in one day than in all our other European countries combined. I thought I should sit myself down beside one and say: "If you have any leftovers...." I needed a barbecue. Sharon noticed the people looked a lot like her relatives. The petite physiques we had seen in France was gone. The Germans were meat and potatoes size. I thought even the mosquitoes were bigger. In Luxembourg we stopped to watch the river slide by. A couple floated slowly downstream on an inflatable raft. That river was moving after all. I could tell they were a couple: They had matching shades of pink skin. Many people were out walking or riding their bikes enjoying the sun. Old folks, looking like wilted flowers, lolled in wheelchairs trying to be rejuvenated by the spring sunshine. A man stopped and asked questions. I spoke slowly as usual -- most people didn't comprehend well if I spoke too fast. After talking to him for a few minutes, I asked where he was from. "Washington, DC." he replied. "I'm here on vacation." "Ah, so it's a good thing I was talking slow then." Nigel, an Australian, had told us that in Portugal someone asked him for directions. At the end Nigel said, "I learned English in school. Could you understand what I said?" "Yes," the man responded. "Nearly every word." The bike path went through a three-hundred-meter tunnel. The tunnel had lights along the ceiling but I still felt blind going from bright sun into a cave. My fenders seemed to be causing as many problems as they solved. After I got a flat I discovered my rear tire was rubbing on a fender bolt. A hole had been worn through my tire right where the bead fitted onto the rim. It had to be the worst place for a tire to fall apart. I was out of spare tires. Sharon had two but they were seven hundred millimetre, only a four millimetre difference to my twenty-seven inchers, but still not close enough to fit. I vowed the next time we bought bikes they would be identical. I glued an old piece of tire inside and pumped the tire to fifty pounds instead of the recommended eighty-five. It lasted a whole fifteen minutes, then the tube bulged out and started hitting my chain stay. Sharon had the idea of sewing the bead back onto the tire. I told her I could fix it if I had some duct tape and a hammer. I had heard of sew-ups before but that was ridiculous. I sewed it up and glued the boot again while imagining the real reason my tire being kaput was due to an old woman who had passed me on the bike path. She dinged her bell repeatedly as she forced me off the narrow lane. I heard her laugh as she raced by, her wheel cutter glinting in the sunlight. I pumped it to a measly thirty-five pounds. "Don't hit any bumps," Sharon cautioned. "Or else your rim is going to hit and you'll get a pinch flat." I hit the bumps slowly and with finesse. I hoped I could find a twenty-seven inch tire in a land of seven hundreds. We crossed the river back into Germany and followed the bike path up a steep hill before finding a camp spot in a meadow amongst thigh high grass beneath an old blossoming apple tree. We were out of substantial food. All the stores in Luxembourg had been closed. I wondered how many kilometers I could get on a chocolate bar. |
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