Fulda - Mannheim 183 km

I had made myself a plan. As usual, with a malfunction. Bike shop after bike shop along the route, that was how the morning began. Shortly after nine, I stood in the first one, and he immediately took pity on me. Broken spoke. No problem. Thirty minutes later, I was back outside, although with the words that my rear wheel would probably give up the ghost soon. So that was the warning shot. Not my weight. The rear wheel. Which of course also means: I have ridden a DT-X wheelset to material fatigue. Not bad.

And with that, I was off. The first thirty kilometers to Schlüchtern were very rolling. Just before Schlüchtern, I was finally out of the Rhön. The Rhön really is beautiful in terms of landscape. A proper low mountain range. After that, I rode down the Kinzig valley after the reservoir. Things did not go particularly well today. It was tough. Headwind. Heavy legs. Maybe also the rear wheel. But the landscape was magnificent. R3, Hesse long-distance cycle route. These cycle routes in Hesse are really excellent. Other federal states could learn a thing or two from them. Good signposting, good paths, good infrastructure.

In theory, it went downhill the whole way along the valley, following the Kinzig downstream. But the headwind spoiled it. Either the headwind or my rear wheel. At least sometimes I had the impression that something was still not quite running smoothly back there. Maybe I am simply looking for a reason why things used to feel easier. In terms of landscape, it was wonderful all the way to Wächtersbach and Gelnhausen. Both places still live from history, especially Gelnhausen with its Staufer past. This region has something. Castles, old towns, river valleys, half-timbered houses, memories of an empire that, under the Staufers, stretched from the shores of the Mediterranean far into the north. And in the end, the Staufers came from where I come from, too. From the Swabian Alb.

Near Gelnhausen, I unfortunately made the wrong decision. I wanted to get out of the headwind and therefore left the R3 and the Kinzig valley. Instead, I switched to a cycle route that was four kilometers shorter to Hanau, but led much more along roads that were also used by cars. Unfortunately. That was a mistake. It was no longer pleasant. Constantly having to pay attention. Twice, drivers once again forced me to brake. If you drive on a road in such a way that a cyclist cannot pass parked cars while you are coming the other way, then something is wrong. Had I tried it anyway and not waited, I already know the answer after they had hit me: “I didn’t see you.” Yeah, right. So it was 28 kilometers of caution instead of 32 kilometers of winding headwind in a pretty valley. No, I am not going back now to undo my decision. Next time.

I was late in Hanau. I had started late as well. Around three o’clock, I rode a little through the city where I had once had a happy time. It was all still there. I passed close to our old apartment, directly by the memorial for the nine people killed in the racist attack of February 19, 2020. Two hundred meters as the crow flies. That is what I have to imagine today. Two hundred meters from there, right-wing terror shot nine people dead. #saytheirnames: Gökhan Gültekin. Sedat Gürbüz. Said Nesar Hashemi. Mercedes Kierpacz. Hamza Kurtović. Vili Viorel Păun. Fatih Saraçoğlu. Ferhat Unvar. Kaloyan Velkov.

I was still not sure whether I should really ride to Mannheim. I opened my navigation app again. I already had 93 kilometers in my legs and typed in Mannheim. 104 kilometers. In disbelief, I opened the other app. 97 kilometers. In my head, I had stored it as 90 kilometers. That was my route, the one I had ridden for years at the weekend. Weekend commuting. In the end, in under four hours. Visibly confused, I zoomed into the apps and saw the absurd routes they had planned. So I closed them again and thought: I can just try it without them. And rode off.

I knew one thing clearly: if I took one wrong turn, I would probably be lost. Back then, it had taken quite a while until I had pieced the route together. And even then, it was not always entirely easy to follow it cleanly every time. But the first thirty kilometers went surprisingly well. In the forest around the Messel Pit, things became a little more complicated, but I somehow muddled through correctly and was soon past Darmstadt. What drove me was the reward. I desperately wanted a vegetable soup at Amas for dinner. That had been a happy time back then. Difficult and exhausting, yes, but over a noodle soup at Amas, you could forget a lot.

And so I rode out of the foothills of the Odenwald and down toward the Bergstraße. The final thirty kilometers were tough. I really was no longer the freshest version of myself. When I reached Lorsch, I knew: now only through the forest, and then just a little further. That released new strength. Shortly after nine o’clock, I finally reached my accommodation. 183 kilometers were on the bike computer today. So it really was only 90 kilometers between Hanau and Mannheim. I used to handle that better. And probably rode it much faster, too. But surely it was the rear wheel.

When I checked in, I saw an Italian restaurant on the street corner. I had eaten there back then with Marco, an exchange student from Italy. They made excellent pizza. A little regretfully, I walked past it in the direction of Amas, only to discover that it had already closed at eight. So, Neapolitan pizza after all. That is how life goes. When one door closes, sometimes another one opens. In that spirit.