Frankfurt to Heildelberg

In 2000 I went to Germany and France on a self-supported bike tour with my a previous partner. We arrived in Frankfurt after a long 15 hour flight. Our bikes were in boxes and we had to wait over an hour for them to arrive in baggage claim. Neither one of us spoke German. Neither one of us had ever been to Europe. Neither one of us had ever done a bike tour. My partner was a strong, athletic, type A personality. He pushed through life rather than going with the flow. This particular trait, at one time attractive, became the major reason that I left in years later.

We sat in the airport re-assembling our bikes. An armed guard came over to us asking questions in German, gesturing to us. We didn't understand a word he was saying. He eventually walked away; leaving us with our bikes, panniers and two huge boxes. Now, what were we going to do with the boxes? Well, in Germany, unlike in many places in the US, rycling is everywhere. Upon exiting the airport we found an outside recycling center and placed our boxes there. No problem.

Out in front of the airport was this enormous parking lot filled with bikes! It was amazing. From there we needed to catch a train to Heildelberg. We knew from our map we could see that it was was the preferred destination for the night. It was about 94 km or an hour's train ride. Walking our bikes through the train station at roughly 'rush hour' was chaotic and exhilarating. We quickly surmised the letter board and schedules. A train was leaving for Frankfurt in ten minutes! We had to hurry (or we could have waited for the next train, but no, we had to hurry...i.e. he made sure we made that train).

We got onto the train just before it was leaving. We couldn’t find a car that was for bikes, so we just stood on the back side of one of the cars. A conductor approached us and again, we just shrugged our shoulders and gave him a smile. The train was packed with evening commuters and people were looking at us like we were idiots.

Upon arrival in Heildelberg the stress faded and our exhaustion took over. 5 km south of town was the campground. It sat right on the edge of the Neckar River, called Haide Camp Haide, it was a quaint, quiet, clean campground. 

We purchased two huge beers. Sat by the river and watched the barges float by. The sun was setting. We were in Germany. We had 20 days, a map and nothing planned.

Probably one of the best trips in my life.

In the twenty days of that trip, I pushed myself harder than I had ever done in order to appease my partner. There were days when I wanted to spring for a hotel instead of camp. There were days that I wish we didn’t have to ride 90 km to get to the next campground. But as I look back on that trip I feel an unabashed sense of pride for having made the journey. Even though it feels like a lifetime ago, I can always look back at the pictures and remember who I was then is always who I’ve ever been. Who I am today is the same person I was then. 

What is more amazing still is that you can actually see the route we traversed from Google Maps!  I can trace my finger along the route that we rode almost 12 years ago, and yet it still feels a million years ago.  As my finger follows these routes off my video monitor, I see a more ethereal connection to my life's path.  The thread of my life clearly leads from there to here and from here to there, yes with diversions along the way, but never disconnected, always, always just as who I am.