Day 5–6: Scherzo in Mud Minor with Curry dressing
Well… good things tend to end. The drums outside weren't just ambience – rain was marching in.
Caught a gap and rushed forward: Tom & Jerry with the rain. Quick chain lube stop, friendly local: “Follow the river.” Thanks, but no. I'd had enough refined German cycleways.
Suunto pointed straight into the forest. No rain anymore – just water everywhere, soaked even into the air itself. Paused for a photo, and right then a herd of deer, like a train, crossed the road exactly where I would have been a second later. Nice.
Mud. Puddle. Mud. Plash. Plush. The chain cracked at every link, begging for mercy. A farmer appeared, waving something agricultural and calmly explained in German that the next road was his – the calm was projected across fifty meters. De-grease. Re-grease. Re-think. I glanced at the chainstay sticker: Time to rename you GrЯzl. Mud. Mood. At that point, I honestly couldn't tell the difference.
The “Private road” signs stalked me. Nearly an hour later – a small town. A quick coffee stop – something warm, a few more turns, and… what the hell.
The road ahead was straighter than a ruler could draw. Thunderclaps in the distance sounded deadly serious about my next hour. Tailwind winked – “let's go.” Almost made it… until the downpour flooded everything. I dove into a bush, hiding under the trees.
A sign one meter from my face warned: Military area. Access prohibited. Live-fire zone. The same sign, in Polish, stood on the other side of the road. Suddenly, the small red passport in my bag felt less like ID and more like a punchline.
At least the rain washed the mud – even that finger-thick stripe across the saddlebag. Soon after, forest roads returned the mud. Balance restored.
One more clinically neat park, a postcard town chain, neatly ironed by bike lanes. Joggers, kids, laundry-detergent air. And there it was – Rakotzbrücke. Worth every drop of rain. Not much else around, though. Pair it with Bad Muskau. They belong together.
Supermarket stop. Tent up. A pair of MTB riders – spotless, as if they'd just rolled off a EuroVelo brochure – looked at me like I was a lump of the very mud I'd just scraped off the frame. Strange feeling, seeing those crisp-clean MTBs parked next to my mud-covered, happy-as-a-boar gravel bike. To be fair, I matched it.
The weather finally tuned the perfect tone. I finished the day swimming in the lake and purring quietly into the sunset – one more small dream from childhood camping on a sailboat.
Morning greeted me with bright sun and a reminder that not everyone cares about dress codes during stretching. The second long day looked promising.
Fast breakfast. Stuff-everything-in packing. Dryish roads led me along the Spree. A road sign said Unter den Linden in the middle of nowhere – a private joke for Berliners. Another sign lifted the speed limit right before entering the forest. German pedantry remains undefeated.
Cottbus greeted with a lush park. A friend of mine had rented an apartment conveniently right along my route, so no detour needed – chai, laughs, the familiar warmth that almost made me stay. But the road nudged me onward – Spreewald calling.
The forest began as cathedral-pure – pines in infinite rows. The map said Landstraße, which usually means a nice tarmac road… but this one? I was practically swimming on the bike through a sea of sand. The next few hours were a mix of stunning views and pure mental abrasion.
And then – tarmac. Relief first. Then: “Okay, how much more of that sand trench is ahead?”… Numbers on watch were rigorous: move now, or the pine becomes your hotel.
Supermarket that maps swore existed – didn't. Time sprint. Next town. Found one.
Grabbed food and, crucially, ice cream. Morale restored. Thirty minutes left until the campground would close. Ten kilometres to go. Full send.
Road ducked under crowns again – but stayed civilized. The campground rewarded me with a first-line lake spot. Unpack. Dinner. Swim. Beer.
185 km over two days – pinned to the wall.
Part III of IV. To be continued(Almost there).
by mithraelle