October 4, 2012
"They knocked me off my bike": Melk - Mathausen
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THERE WERE three cyclists waiting for me at this morning. Well, not just for me, as it happens, but getting themselves sorted out beside the front door of the inn. I thought they had slept in the warm last night and congratulated them on their decision.
"But we didn't," a gentlemanly man in glasses protested. "We camped as well and we came to see you but you were already sound asleep."
He had a gentle, round face and a nicely modulated tone that doctors use
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when to examine your charts and say things are far from good but you look like pulling through. It betrayed an expensive education.
The three were British, riding from Hoek van Holland to Budapest. The other two were an overweight guy with a chin that hadn't seen a razor for a while and, arriving late, a lad perhaps around 30 who had long hair and never spoke. They hoped to ride 170km to Vienna today - although not all on the bike they set out on.
"I wrecked my Mercian in Hoek van Holland," the bespectacled gent said. "My riding colleagues weren't used to having panniers and we got hooked up. I bought a new bike there and I'm pleased with it, I have to say."
That, and enough water under the Danube bridges, had removed rancour from his voice.
Today was one of those rare things: perfection. The sun shone and the past week's headwind had turned to a gentle push on my back. The kilometres passed so smoothly that I wondered if my computer were over-counting.
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