Two worl... What?

It is the last full day so Nick decides to treat himself and hire one of the Hotel's ebikes for a modest 15€. Igor is summoned to demo the bike which he duly does. Nick decides to head back up to the fateful Hochfelln and from thence via forestry to Maria Eck (named after the Yorkshire version of West Side Story). He starts, one kilometre up the hill he stops, the bike will go no further, he dismounts ruefully, an admission of failing vitality, to push, it won't do that either. He inspects and finds the back brake stuck to the back wheel, it is nonadjustable, fortunately his, and the bike's, considerable weight overcome the friction so that five minutes later, the receptionist heads off to find Igor. Over the next ten minutes Nick learns a few, somewhat terse Hungarian phrases, without knowing what they mean, he instinctively grasps the sort of situation where one might use them.

Brakes freed, he sets off up the wrong hill, has a chat with a fellow cyclist who puts him on the right hill, and warns of fallen trees on his chosen path. Two thirds of the way up the right hill, and he comes to a halt, not a grinding halt, that was the previous time, just a halt, the bike seems to refuse to respond to the gears. Giving up he turns once more, turns, and determines to trace his steps back to Rothmoosalm, it is less of a hill, perhaps that's the problem. After the turn (and christening the bike Hugh) there is a new rattle, at the first up, the chain jumps off the rear sprocket, some oily fingers and twenty metres later, it does it again - "Igor!".

While Igor soundly abuses Hugh, the receptionist drops the hire charge. Hugh's rear wheel is mounted in a slot to adjust the tension on the chain, it has moved, releasing the chain, Igor moves it back. At this point Nick decides not to question Igor on his opinion of Viktor Orban, but mentally posits that had Bosch ebikes been a feature in 1940, that Hungary may have shifted in a different direction.

He departs again, and is stymied at the first hill, the gears once again not responding, after a faff, and by serendipity, he discovers that the gears will only shift if you stop pedalling, so finally turns Hugh and sets off for Rothelmoos (Maria Eck has lost its shimmer, there's always next time).
"Lets see - Turbo 35km, Sport 40km, Tour 50km, Eco 71km - should be ok."
Instead of going the same way to Rothelmoos, he does the extension up the hill to Eschelmoos, it is a long steep hill, necessitating lots of Sport and indeed Turbo, at the top-
"Lets see - Turbo 20km, Sport 22km, Tour 35km, Eco 40km - yikes!"
The way down the other side of the valley is in Eco mode, pushing some charge back in the battery, at Rothelmoos Nick stops for a beer and a plate of ham and bread - he is also in Eco mode.

Back down the Wappachtal and then around lake for variety, on the way back he stops at the Lumberjack Museum, and is mildly disappointed to find that it's a collection of buildings to walk round, by this time he was hoping for some sort of audio-visual with seats and a saline drip. He finally returns the bike to the hotel_
"Lets see - Turbo 1km, Sport 1km, Tour 1km, Eco 4km - Blimey!"

After his shower he searches for his specs - missing! Turns the pack upside -down, rummages inside, searches under the bed clothes, under the bed, the desk, in the wardrobe, in the pack again, not helped by the fact that he only has his sunglasses in the nocturnal gloom. Analysis: In the museum hoping to be inside he changed from sunglasses to the truant correctives, and then reversed the process on leaving. Two supermarkets where things (never you mind - they're already gone) were put in the pack, then the hotel.
"Could you ring the Lumberjack Museum and ask if ..."
They're shut, he takes Ziggy for a spin there, the rush of adrenalin obscuring the complaints from his overheated joints - nothing. He finds young Englisch sprechen in the supermarkets - nichts. The evening is spent explaining.

Day does its best to dawn, some of the night has been spent Braille packing, some sleeping, before facing breakfast whilst looking like a Hollywood roue from the 60's, he has one last go at the pack; empty. Slides hands down each side of the back panel, inside the pack and outside, and is both miffed and thrilled as the case pops onto the floor, freed from being caught under the flap at the top of the pack, won't bloody fall out when you turn the thing upside down and shake it, oh no, not for you the joys of gravity, you bloody selfish bast~'&@*.
 "Yeah thought so." - he thinks, "Roue to twit in five seconds."

As punishment, and to occupy two and a half hours he does a stroll from the "10 Best Hikes" leaflet, there is a lot of up, some along and a lot of down, apart from the along, it all hurts, actually the along hurts too but in a different way. Still the flowers, the trees, the Alpine Squirrels (black Red Squirrels) the two thirds of a crushed slow worm and the back half of a legged lizard - "Ahh Nature!".

At the airport the flight is delayed by an hour, he has been here before - a week ago.

I said DON'T mention it!

WARNING CONTAINS POTENTIAL STEREOTYPING.


It is possibly morning, the rising of the sun makes no difference to the intensity of light in the Batcave, however Nick rises, submits to a shower and shave, dons boots and breakfast, then shoulders his pre-packed (umm) pack. The bus is at the station as is Trish, John and Sheila - and Nicole about 30, from the North German coast, therefore unused to heat and sun, two metres tall! The lady driving the bus whisks them up to Steinbach and throws them out. After a half hour stroll the cable carers peel off and the summiteers carry on, the temperature is hovering about 25. After about 100 metres of ascent, with Trish asking every person coming the other way if they've been to the top, they haven't, she eventually strikes unlucky as one replies that the way is shut, "A, how you say, avalanche". They crest the bend and look up, about 50 metres up, white balls of snow cover the obvious ascent route, there is however a knob with a cross on it in view so they decide that that might do as an alternative, for photographic purposes. A very jolly German gentleman lifts the potentially electrified fence for them, and even more obligingly takes the necessary photos. As they leave to cable car up Trish decides the fence isn't electrified - it is. The ascent and the tour of the top are accompanied by a litany of, "I think we could have done it." despite there having been another small avalanche in the meantime. Slowly a look of dawning horror comes over Nick's chiselled visage as he realises that this means they will now be descending the mountain on foot, rather than ascending.
The map is consulted, ignored, consulted, "We could've..." John and Sheila swing into view and are persuaded to descend with them, this is a fillip, as it will slow things down.

"Now Sheila what do think of doin' dat?"
"O Jesus no!"
"Roight, we'll be goin' down here then."

Nick, with the map is trying to steer to the bus stop as he reckons the timings are right, sadly the path that leads there, is a snow field that disappears around a blind bend, potentially to  ... Doom! So they turn to the alternative which puts them yet another valley away from a) The Bus Stop, and b) The town. At the bottom of the (first) steep descent they watch a marmot family playing, and then proceed past the Thorau Alm:
John "Will we go in, Sheila do you want to go in for a drink? Nick?"
Scenting prey the Alm Frau vocally touts her wares.
John "No we won't go in. Sheila? Nick? Nick do you fancy a drink?"
Alm Frau after a brief listen plays her trump card, one of her two beautiful dirndl clad maidens chimes,
"We have cake!"
John "Do you have beer?"
"Yes we have beer."
John "Sheila, Nick, do you fancy a drink. Nick? Nick!"

They stop for beer, coffee, water and cake. Both the dirndl maidens are on holiday from being an air handling plant order processor or a tax advisors assistant. Their holiday consists of serving beer and cake to passing walkers, and apparently acting as the refreshment Lorelei of the mountain.

"You look like you've got a bit of Irish in you, have you Irish parents?"
The maiden blushes and her co-worker laughs.
"Why are you laughin' now?"
"Someone asked me the same question two days ago."

After John finishes his second beer, they set off, the path turns into a road and continues downhill at about 1 in 5 for a mile or two, Nick's already well-turned calf now resembles the best Chippendale. Finally back to town, a sluice (the salt content of Ruhpolding's run-off must be enormous) and dinner, with too much relief drink. Nick returns to his tomb-like room and, appropriately, sleeps the sleep of the dead.

In celebration of being alive Nick decides to take a bike and do the Rothelmoos Alm circuit, sadly Ziggy is spoken for so he takes number 11 and names it, appropriately, Legolas. The start of the ride is through pasture waiting to be cut for hay, sporting lots of flowers, it then turns to a road by a stream, before turning into a forestry track, before turning into the ascent to Everest Basecamp. He stops to talk to some Germans who advise an e bike, before returning to the Anapurna trail, which tops out with the view of a waterfall. He ties Legolas steaming to a tree and rubs his trembling flanks with some hay. They continue, now on the flat, before bursting into the arena of the alm, there are mountains, an alm house selling beer (this opens up a whole new prospect for alms houses), and cows all over the place, COWS ALL OVER THE PLACE!

Cows missed, he stops for a pause, comes to a decision and pedals randomly up a road, not the best at decision-making he turns round, remeets the Germans for a chat about beer, then makes another decision and goes to the alm house for a beer.
"Ein Weisbier bitte."
"Any food?"
"Weisbier is food."
They chat, "Your English is very good."
"My boyfriend is Australian."
At this point he must have lost his presence of mind, as he should have said, "Despite that your English is very good." Sadly, he didn't realise this until the evening, he was probably tired.

The descent from the alm is put on a slight hiatus while he cycles to tell the Germans as they return from the other alm house that indeed the alm house that he has just vacated does indeed sell beer.
"Is it cold beer?"
"Yup."
"Good, they, " cursory reverse nod, "Only have warm beer."
Then down the Wappach valley next to the tumbling stream,  the path wiggles a bit, but is still down and coastable, at the bottom, across the road from the roadworks there is the Weitsee, surrounded by a blue haze of plants. The recommended onward path dips into the lake and re-emerges on the other side, at the moment the path is occupied by a couple with a newborn, when the water gets chest high - or head high for Nick, the newborn is held aloft, like a cup. Nick admires their elan, and continues to approach by going around to the other side, passing the naked man and bethonged lady,
"Gruss Teg!"
"Surprised mumble"
He continues until the road dips into the lake, and then returns via a different route across back to the main road. Suddenly Auntie Nelly comes to mind, somewhat confused he looks about and discovers himself in a decline filled with strangely familiar plants, fleshy leaves with little white bells falling from a central stalk, it is Lily of the Valley, in - a valley. Now he is heading homeward down a forestry path that presumably parallels the main road. It does but occasionally it throws in dark blue bells of gentian (usually higher)
and insectivorous butterwort (the same). Suddenly he finds himself riding beside Forchaussee, a lake that trends from a light turquoise to dark black-blue, it is as clear as crystal, the bodies of dead trees loom up from the bottom and large trout plane the surface.
More coasting, until home, then back for more risky spaing, this time the toes remain intact and the sauna is sullied by his taut buttocks.
In the evening he chats to Steve, his next door table person, over wine, about university, there is much anguish and wringing of hands, in the morning there will be ringing in ears.

The next day may have dawned, as it is Nick gets up and has breakfast, then declares a rest day, he sets of for the other lift in Ruhpolding, the Rauschbergerbahn. It takes about an hour and a half to get there by foot, including a last one in three hill just to get you into the spirit of things. As it is low season the lift timetable is a little ramshackle but present. Nick ascends the Rauschberg, with a family, an elderly couple (that's his seat gone) and a young woman with an Akita, there is some concern from most people as to how this small wolf may react as the ascent begins. Actually it yawns and lies down.

As Nick leaves the lift the first thing he hears are Blackcock in a lek, sadly he can't see them, and the territory is more suited to abseiling than birdwatching. After perusing the map he elects to walk around and along to the highest peak, there's a few small snowfields in the way but nothing too exercising, the track dwindles to a path between low pine, the ground punctuated by roots and rocks, it contours around the shoulder of the mountain and then turns back and up. Another religious lightning attractor sits on the top, there is a small fence and - nothing. A small path continues, but it becomes obvious that it has only been walked the other way, after the first few pinous face swipes he turns and retreats.

On the way back he meets various Germans, who talk about snow and the avalanche on the Hochfelln, they think they wouldn't have wanted to do it, Nick nods sagely. He also comes across a field of wild crocus, his favourite thing to find on the mountain in early season, there being the usual paucity of willing maidens, which would otherwise be his favourite.

The return takes him to the Windbeutel, where he has to stop for the famous Windbeutel Lohengrin

Choux bun filled with cream and fruit, and whatever on a sliding scale up to 14 euro. The cafe is famous for it's buns, so far there are three coaches parked outside it, it is the German equivalent of Harry Ramsdens 30 years ago. His bun is number 2,874,852!

He returns to the hotel to catch up on a spot of digestion before dinner.

Don't mention the war!

A man is sitting in a crowded airport, no breeze is ruffling his grizzled hair and no gate information is forthcoming from the board, apart from "Gate information will be available at ----" this is a number that keeps adding 5 minutes, in Nick's mind (Yes it is he) this is probably "a bad thing", finally a gate number comes up, this is one away from the end of the airport, where screams of anguish/anger cannot be heard in the main concourse, another "bad thing"; he has been here before, in Denver.
The view from the window of the gate reveals no plane, after 30 mins someone enquires as to what's happening and is told that the plane has arrived empty and is being cleaned and catered, this fails to explain the stream of passengers in plain sight travelling in the opposite direction. Finally an hour late he boards the plane and they join the queue for the runway. Two hours later and he boards Dino's bus to travel to Ruhpolding in Bavaria, former home of Eva Braun apparently, not that it's worth mentioning. The transfer is mercifully short, though his heart goes out to those travelling to Seefeld, from Salzburg, on a Saturday night; he has been here before, umm, in Saltzburg.
Amazingly the hotel is still serving dinner, he gets into the spirit of things and orders ( vegetarians look away now) suckling pig leg with cabbage, and beer. At the next table a German Hausfrau practises her English on him, the next day she will tell him that the man she is with is not her husband, just a good friend, so she may have been practising her wiles, though eating is something she no longer needs the practise with, she is an adept.
The room, a crepuscular but adequate single, features a novelty bathroom;- the shower occupies one corner with the doors shut, otherwise it is just a wall (and ceiling) feature. There are two mains plugs, a shaver socket and a hairdryer, to Nick (still him) this seems to be an excess of electricity in a damp environment. He beds but fails to sleep due to an overindulgence of the junior porcine variety.
The next day dawns, along with a buffet breakfast of modestly gargantuan proportions, he eschews the smoked salmon and bottle of Sekt - for now. The rep, Stephanie, drags them round town trying to elicit money for trips while dispensing what Tui determine to be the appropriate amount of information, she does tell them where to find the best cake in Germany though, fortunately this is in Ruhpolding, watch this space.
After the "orientation" he returns to the Hotel, is informed of the single status of matronly lady (contradiction?), and retires to the camera obscura to don the appropriate gear for the plus 25 degrees C temperatures expected, i.e not a lot apart from sun tan lotion (fortunately he has brought two lots with him, sadly an oversight rather than planning). Then he is off, up the Unternberg (1425m from 625m) without using the chairlift. The map is, of course, wrong, he has been here before - in Chamonix, this time it's not too bad, it's just that a forestry road that doesn't appear on the map appears to be the way up, there is however a bypass route that traipses up a piste with minor excursions into the forest for a bit of photo-respite.

At the first top there are people paragliding down the piste while trying to avoid the forest, a sort of exact opposite to what Nick has been doing on the way up, however the outcomes of failure would be remarkably different, while Nick would be in a bit of a tizz the paragliders wouldn't be in a bit of an anything, though possibly in bits.
At the summit summit he pauses for an Almdudler (it's a fizzy drink) before descending the chairlift, it is the slowest chairlift that he has ever encountered, he thought he'd been here before, in Ortisei, but he hadn't. At the bottom he chats to a couple from the North East before joining them for a bus trip back to the hotel. He is moderately relieved to see that his dining place has been moved. Showers and then goes off to see the rep to isolate the cake cafe on the town map.
They chat about mutual places and then she decides to introduce him to Trish, a voluble Irish lady who likes doing peaks, and who is desperate to get up the Hochfelln, a peak that Nick has thought about because it features a cable car, in order to get there one can charter a bus for 2 euros pp, providing there is more than one p, Nick will be the plus one. He chats to Trish in between shoveling a variety of German comestibles into his gob, including those white logs that purport to be asparagus, don't taste like asparagus, but are found to have been asparagus next time you go for a pee. He comes to the conclusion that she might be trying to kill him, either with a deft avalanche, or possibly by exhaustion, he has been here before - in several places.
This night he is kept awake by thoughts of impending death, and the worry of which bike to use from the hotel's stable. Some readers may know of Nick's making an acquaintance with the railway track in Seefeld from a height of a metre and a half due to a problem with his drum brakes.
A new day, another breakfast, a consultation of various bits of info plus a webcam shot from the top of Hochfelln have allayed his fears a bit, when Trish mutually confesses to "poor knees" on the way down there is a palpable sense of relief, Nick acknowledges the problem with a sympathetic moue and an extended digit resting on the cable car.
He peruses the stable and decides that number 12 will fit the bill, he decides to call it Ziggy having translated twelve as einzieg drei, sadly it's zwolfe, but Ziggy remains. He also decides that he will go and see if the Smugglers Trail, closed by snow damage three weeks ago has been opened, he consults the guide to the 10 Best Mountain Bike Trails in Ruhpolding at Eggl Bridge (all routes start at Eggl Bridge). "Follow the trail on the right of the river downstream for several kilometres of gentle inclines". Several one in five hills later ("gentle inclines" vary from country to country) he consults the map when he spots that the river has become the railway line, that shouldn't be there. There is much internalised cursing, he decides he will visit the Tourist Information Centre to lecture them on the difference between "Downstream" and "Upstream" and to offer to rewrite the English description. At this point Nick must have lost his presence of mind for he now proceeds down the wrong track three times while heading in the right general direction, including a brief sojourn on the right track that he decided was wrong. Sadly he can no longer blame the instructions it is all down to him, he has been here before in...
As the valley draws in the snow damage becomes obvious, fortunately a plough has been put through so the track is clear but a little churned up in places. After 3+ hours of trying to get here the water runs out as he sees the start of the path. He ties Ziggy to a tree and starts up to the Staubfall.
At the first bend he indulges in improvised carpentry and produces a stick, he would like to think that he ascends Gandalf-like through the forest, sadly it's a short sweaty fat bloke with a stick.

Thirty minutes of zigzagging through the trees brings him to the fall. There is a little damage to the path, some of the posts are bent on exposed corners and there is some undermining of the fence what stops you falling orf but this poses no problem. The fall is meltwater, so in two weeks it will be gone, and the crux point under the fall is protected by a small roof, beyond this bend, in Austria, two men are repairing the fence, so not shut at all.
The journey back is bittersweet, it takes 45 minutes of mainly coasting. In Ruhpolding he braves a Supermarket and entertains the entire shopping public of the town by failing to comprehend the numbers the till woman is spouting, he has been caught out by German efficiency and the fact that the bottle has a deposit on it, if he could he would plead electrolyte deprivation, instead he extends his change, lets the woman peck through it like a fussy hen, and heads off to the hotel.
It is relatively early, his thighs and knees are quite warm, he visits the spa, it is his! Within two minutes his health and safety instincts are aroused, the tiles combined with damp feet feel, he imagines, like the floors in the Fyffees packing plant. A visit to the jacuzzi result in a slip off the entry step to jam a toe into the bottom jet. The shower in the sauna area has three preset programs the first of which turns on a green light and mists you with menthol, quite lovely unless you're staring at the green light. Thoroughly spa-ed he heads to dinner, there is Lumberjack Cordon Bleu, upon asking as to what this might be, the waitress exhibits a startle reaction, followed by blank incomprehension, reading the German side of the menu doesn't help. Nick opts, it is apparently ham and cheese (Cordon bleu innit) wrapped in some sort of white meat, possibly veal, possibly not, it is served with a red kidney bean chilli, he has nearly been here before - in Eger, the pork chop with a banana sprinkled with curry powder is indelibly etched on his memory, more so the vegetarian option of grilled Portobello mushroom with the same banana, served to a Muslim guest at the same table.
After dinner he mooches around town, meeting a returning guest, they chat about what they will do tomorrow. The conversation finishes with, "If you can get up that I'll buy you a drink!" A steely resolve settles over Nick's normally placid demeanour.