A man is standing next to the rail-track looking ruefully at the ballast, and picking some of the finer bits of it out of the craters in his elbow and calf. Blood seeps out of said craters and meanders through the downy hairs contrasting nicely with the coating of dust picked up on impact. It is Nick, he has just come to an involuntary stop and put down his foot on the wrong side of the bike, the side where there is no side, just some shrubs poking airily out over the edge of the four foot cutting for the track. He and the bike have paid a quick visit to inspect the quality of the gravel (hard, resistant to gravity, and in some cases, sharp). Ironically he has been hoist by his own petard, had he hired a bike instead of using the free hotel one this may not have happened, but parsimony prevailed.
The previous day I had ascended the Reitherspitze, and now prostrated by the nervous exhaustion engendered by proceeding past this notice (ACHTUNG Sie betreten alpines wegegebiet trittsicherheit schwindelfreiheit und alpine erfahrung sind erforderlich. Which apparently translates as :
ATTENTION you enter alpine routes landscape occurs safety swindle liberty and alpine experience are required. Hmm, and I thought schwindelfreiheit meant a good head for heights.), going round the corner and up the ladder conveniently wired to the rock and summitting a mere thirty minutes later. On the way down, I met a girl in one of those spaghetti-strapped tops, the sort that are tight and cut straight across the chest, you know the ones I mean, the sort with breasts in. Anyway, I asked if she had binoculars as I'd just spotted two chamoix, she didn't, but she did tell me that more chamoix were to be found on those alps there, because there were less tourists! I mumbled an apology and she went powering on her way, I mentally christened her "Skippy", and went hobbling on my way (She - L R L R L R L R. Me - L L R L R LRLRLRL OH SHI...). Anyway I made the cafe, downed a pint, and then downed the funicular. That evening the soup was... wait a minute where was I? "A man is standing next to the railtr..." OK.
As the previous day I had ascended the Reitherspitze I decided to go on a bike ride, the hotel had one mountain bike and about a dozen sit-up-and-begs. I opted for the mountain bike, which was I'll admit, small. After banging my knees on the handlebars I opted for a sit-up-and-beg, number eight or
Achtzie as she was known throughout the day. Slightly more accommodating than Skippy, she let me sit on her upholstered parts, and with the map and guide book in the basket off we went for a trip to the Karwendeltal valley.
Now, there was one thing about Achtzie, and that was that she was very continental, by that I mean that she had a front brake and a barrel brake, an internally mounted rear wheel brake activated by back-pedalling - very easily activated by back-pedalling, wheel-lockingly easily activated by back-pedalling! The start of the journey was through town, and then onto the service road for the railway, this was fine until the first downhill when I had to stop at the bottom - I counter-rotated the pedals a fraction, the bike slid majestically across the grit of the track and piled into the embankment, I went with it. It was at this point that I felt that Achtzie's lack of cross-bar was an unexpected
blessing. Pausing only rub down the new graze on my ankle we carried on to Geisenbach, where I consulted the guide book, "Cross the stream over the bridge and carry on along the gravel track to the right." I crossed the stream. I reconsulted the guide book, then the map, then the guide book again, then the map. At this point I decided that the word for "track" and "vertiginous narrow unstable footpath" must be the same word in German. Achtzie and I continued
hand-in-hand for the next half mile, until I decided that the
vertiginous schmalen instabilen Fußweg was now sufficiently placid to not ensure instant death. Two minutes later I discovered that there is a tendency for one to backpedal when free-wheeling. We came to a sudden and unexpected halt, and, as explained at the top of this account, I discovered a lack of solid ground under my left foot - for about a second, maybe two, then I discovered a glut of solid ground. I thanked whatever Teutonic pantheon was looking after me by not providing a train at that moment, manhandled Achtsie back up the bank, followed her, stood about for a bit, and then re-descended back to the track to pick up those bits of my "Nick-has-a-jolly-day-out-cycling kit" that had exploded from the basket, my pockets and my psyche, the latter took sometime, so I used that time to do something worthwhile - clot.
Eventually we arrived at Scharnitz, and I started up the valley, after a moment or two I decided that Achtzie and I were potentially missing out on the spirituality of the ascent, so we started to walk up together. Occasionally gangs of Teutons would cycle past, and make some, probably derogatory, remark, "Drei gears!" I would riposte briskly, which usually got me a nod. When the road leveled, I mounted and we continued. It was lovely, eventually the deciduous wood thinned, and we emerged to be surrounded by high mountains and pine forest, it was hot, the air delicious, my legs on Achtzie's robust pedals pedalled me on into the looming shadow of ..."AN ENORMOUS CATTLE TRUCK". Achtzie and I skidded to the side of the road. The Almabtrieb is a delightful rural fete, where soft-eyed, sweet breathed cows bedecked with ribbons and flowers are brought down from the high pastures by their lederhosen-clad cowherds, and are paraded through the villages to the church pasture, where everyone has a drink and a wurst. "Bollocks to that!" says Joe Tyroler "I'll bung them in the truck and drive them down the narrow road at 50 MPH."
After Achtzie and I had recovered, we carried on, I even felt sufficiently relaxed to record a video, here it is. If you listen carefully you will be able to discover the moment when I realise that I'm holding the camera in the hand that I should be using to brake with, thus committing myself to backpedal-brake or 23Skidoo as I came to know it (after the first 22). But you might get some sense of the scenery. I continued for an hour and a half, stopping for water breaks - and involuntary brakes until I got to the point where, for the sake of time, I decided on a discretional reversal, though being stupid I had a bit of an explore first, leaving me to wonder if I'd ever see the track again. However, my keen sense of direction prevailed and I regained the track, it was at this point that I realised I'd been going uphill for the past ninety minutes, as I coasted back to the start point in twenty, narrowly missing a tractor with cattle trailer, an alpine viper and the returning truck.
There now remained only the return, Achtzie and I crossed to the other side of the valley and started up the narrow track through delightful woods dotted with fungi and..."AN ENORMOUS QUARRY TRUCK!" I pulled the brambles out of my calf, and the bike out of the brambles, we continued. It was a voyage of discovery; discovery that there appeared to be trails not present on the map, and discovery that to get from Scharnitz to Seefeld you had to ascend what felt like several thousand feet, up tracks that would put the average staircase to shame. I gave Achtzie a well-earned rest - and walked.
Upon our return to the hotel, I re-stabled Achtzie, returned her key to the desk, and then treated myself - mainly with antiseptic cream.
