Bike-sized puzzle for a river-side ride

We are off! Our first big cycle touring experience is about to begin: plan is to ride on the famous Danube Cycleway from the source of the river in Germany, through Austria and Slovakia all the way to Budapest in Hungary.

First step? Get a bike. Big question? Do I haul one all the way from Australia (yes, Australia, not Austria) or buy one somewhere in Europe. Turns out that long-distance cyclists are passionately divided on this. Some swear by bringing their trusty two-wheeled steed from home. Others say, “Packing and unpacking bikes for airline travel is for mugs. Just buy one when you land.”

Tempting logic. But bikes are cheaper in Oz—easily 30% less for a new one—so I was firmly in Team BYO.

Then I imagined myself in Munich airport, jet-lagged after a 24-hour flight from Perth, surrounded by a deconstructed bike, trying to reassemble mysterious bits with all the mechanical skill of … I was going to say a donkey, but that seems unfair to the beast.

My life-partner and Cycle Sidekick (CS for the purposes of this series), is definitely much techier. But when I point to the bike I’m eyeing—with its futuristic hydraulic disc brakes—he gives it a look usually reserved for malfunctioning software on alien spacecraft in Bollywood movies.

That settled it: transporting a DIY bike-size puzzle across continents is not the dream. We will buy our bikes in Munich, because nothing says “well-planned bike-touring” like landing on foreign soil with no wheels, no language skills and a mission to buy a bicycle before the jet lag hits!

In preparation, we dive into the on-line maze of new and second-hand bike sellers, plus rental sites, hoping for the miracle of a perfect bike. The options are endless if, like CS, you are 6-foot tall and built to default settings. But there is a small problem…me – a towering 156 cm, or 5 foot 1 and a bit.

On one promising rental site, I optimistically click through buttons labeled in what might be German (or may be hieroglyph) and land on an enquiry form. First question: height, with a menu of tick boxes that begin at 160 cm. Apparently, short people don’t ride bikes in Germany. (What are we riding instead? Rats? Like that fat Indian god called Ganesh?)

Eventually, after trawling through enough listings to qualify for a job in bike sales, I strike gold: a modern version of a bike I used to own early this century— Specialized brand, sleek and familiar. Better still, the company’s website says it comes in XS. Cue: cautious optimism.

I try the Munich shop officially listed as a Specialized agent. They have a recorded message in German. Then four words in English ‘press 2 for English’. I do; again; and again and again. And the message loops – over, and over and again. I give up after a week or so on hold, still unsure whether it was a customer service line or an immersive performance piece by the Hairy Godmothers (Declaration of interest: I am the biological mother of one of the creatives in the group. So ignore/forgive this PR exercise.)

Then – finally – a breakthrough! I find another shop—and miraculously, a human — Tobi. “I speak a little English,” he says modestly, then proceeds with perfect clarity.

He checks the stock. Yes, he has a small frame of the model I want. “It is very small,” he warns.

“Yes, but I think I need the XS,” I reply.

There’s a pause. “Really? No! That is … almost …like for children!”

Never mind the indignity. “Could you get me one by the 15th? Yes May, yes this year, in a week, in fact…”

Tobi hesitates, weighing up the logistical problems and then, with the air of a man resigned to doing something mildly ridiculous, he says “Okay. Let me see if we can make it happen.”

And just like that, the wheels of my adventure crank into gear – still slow (always slow as the reader of this blog knows), still tentative. But, there is movement in the air!

Stay tuned if you like your travels scenic and serene—with the occasional wobbles from Yours Truly, a latecomer (age politely withheld) to the fine art and eccentric science of bike-trekking.