Serving the Table
Previously, I told a tale about the feebleness of cognition and The Orange Tent. The latter was bought with a purpose: to make a short story long. Again. Trip narratives here are great for two things: indulging yourself – stretching lunch for another “five minutes more” (for the fifth time in a row) – and igniting the kind of curiosity that makes you plot your next escape before finishing dessert.
Somebody’s photos of the Bastei reawakened that dormant madness of visiting Dresden, with the original plan to see the Devil’s Bridge and a friend of mine in Cottbus. A quiz in a German course tossed in the final checkpoint: Görlitz. The smallest task remained – to stitch it all together. Reddit winked from one tab, Komoot smiled from another. I sank into logistical hell – sondern auch paradise, ob du’s verstehen kannst. As we say in my native tongue: Hunger grows as you eat.
The next month I spent in brutal self-negotiations between the desire to ride every hill and the clever idea of “don’t make it Tour de France”, beading day after day with thousands of meters of ascents and hundreds of kilometres of descents. Finally, the course was ready to serve. DB added a pinch of salt with the first train cancellation – and some pepper with the last one, turning a pleasant 9:30 start into an 8 a.m. departure.
Day 0: Overture in DB Allegro
Alarm. Early, as promised. Shower–coffee–cigarette in tango tempo. Hurry up to the train. Jump in – fall out. Repeat, grabbing a sandwich between elevators at Berlin Hauptbahnhof. Disembark in Dresden-Neustadt. Easy ride to Moritzburg. The first hint of mountains, the first honest uphill on a loaded bike. The first stroke of luck – clear skies and sun. But a whisper followed: “The storms you had punched through on the ICE would catch you soon”. Gorgeous downhill to the castle ended the day. So did the beer, chased by the evening rainfall.
20k in the log, just a warm-up.
Day 1–2: Pastorale Interlude
The steel-grey sky promised little good. The forecast confirmed it: two, maybe three hours before heavy rain would blanket Dresden and the outskirts. So… stop procrastinating with coffee and a cigarette – not the office. Click in, and the adventure really begins.
Halfway back to the city, a left turn took me deep into the Dresdner Heath, pointing toward yet another castle on the hill. Descent to the Elbe – and wait: a forgotten cobble road, bumpy, slick, and steep, ready to beat any of berg in Flanders. Only one thing wasn’t ideal: the rain arrived, setting the tone for the next two days.
Rushing through showers, catching glimpses of the Bastei rocks. Coffee stop with stunning views – and a new companion: a small sparrow who happily shared my cookie. A few more strokes, passing Bad Schandau and following the Kirnitzsch river deeper into the mountains. The campground greeted me with a very German thing: a waiting line. The rain didn’t miss its chance to keep me company there either. Meanwhile, the tent was up – home-sweet home in bright orange against the feldgrau day.
A short hike to stretch the legs: the Wildenstein, climbed by a staircase squeezed between stone walls.
Next day, same spot – and the weather played a different tune. Morning sun. Handlebar touch == rain. Coffee pot on == sunshine restored. A short ride to see the Lichtenhainer waterfall I had missed yesterday, then all the way along the Kirnitzsch Valley Trail to the Czech border. By evening, it felt like the rain surrendered to my stubbornness and let the sun shine. I picked the historical tram, endured construction chaos in Bad Schandau, took the ferry, and finally climbed to the skies: Falcon’s Gate. Worth every second I had spent under the rain the day before – 0x10 out of 10.
108km in the log. A quiet interlude before the main theme.
Part I of IV. To be continued. (I did get water. Just not the one I asked for.)
by mithraelle