The rain has been swept away in the night, and it is not too long, cycling along the river that I run into Jeroun, from Belgium, who by a rare chance, is cycling to Passau like me. a fellow cycle traveller, who has pedaled more Kilometres than I have over the last 4 months, from Antwerp, to Santiago de Compestella, to italy, Austria and more. We talk of it all as we cycle, the details of our journey, and agree that we have found the best way of life. And though I have this day lost my cycle computer I know that many kilometres pass by in conversation, including a few misdirected ones, from being too deep in talk.
He has a fantastic mode of camping. able to speak many languages he simply asks at housese and farms wherever he goes, if he can pitch his tent in their garden. This inevitable leads to them inviting him to bed, shower, and eat in the house. And that is how we find ourselfs in a german mansion next to the Danau, drinking our cheap red wine (inspired by the better cups of wine we had in Passau square, that Jeroun describes as “like an Angel pissing on your tongue”) and sleep in a comforatbel spare bed. What luxury afforded him by being able to speak german and having the balls to ask. I do like the sense of adventure and independence in pitching a tent in the wilds, the solitude, but this is a great way to meet people and properly rest after a long day of riding. I get plenty of my precious solitude the next day.
