29. September 2013 § Hinterlasse einen Kommentar
As a postscript, I might add that I benefited from a long weekend in August to complete the journey from Scotland to my hometown. Last year, after having crossed the border into Switzerland, I had decided to take the train home to cut my long trip short. But it had always been on my mind to close this gap some day. It may be one of the signs of truly neurotic behaviour, this obsession for completeness. Then again, it was just a harmless 230 km weekend outing.
On these balmy two days, I continued from Porrentruy and went north for a bit to
catch up with the Eurovelo 6 cycling route (remember: Nantes to Kiev!) and rode along canals and through fertile fields to Mulhouse. Here I visited the hugely interesting automobile museum (yes, me, the avid cyclist), I took pictures of bilingual (Alsatian – French) street signs and had a delicious dinner at a Relais Gourmet in the old quarter.
I stayed overnight in a stuffy little hotel room and woke up to birdsong from the park opposite. I cycled on along the Canal de Huningue and then joined the mighty Rhine through Basle, which looked oddly unfamiliar from the saddle, and on the German bank nearly as far as Waldshut. I had planned to stay overnight here, but then the evening seemed attractive enough for more cycling, given enough calory supplies (which I had in the form of a döner kebab at a noisy crossroads in Baden), and I finally got home on my two wheels at 8 pm.
There is still a bit of Wales and Devon missing, but altogether, I can claim that I cycled from the UK’s northernmost point to the Bosporus in 83 cycling days. So much for the stats. The true story though is in the images and sounds now locked in my head, and the up-and-downhill feelings along the route, forever tied to the moments of experience and in a literal sense: gone, strewn over the vast landscapes of Europe.