In Munich: Love at first Ride?

How do you find the perfect partner for life’s most important journeys?

You want a companion who is smooth yet dependable. One who won’t falter at the first sign of a bump in the road, who navigates curves with ease, shoulders your burdens with grace, and doesn’t mind getting down and dirty when you decide to go the distance on a forest track in the rain.

CS (Cycle Sidekick) searched high and low—through the sun-dappled streets of Bavaria, in whispered conversations with the weathered and wise, and around a block or two with sleek Italian frames that promised passion and performance. He had once considered a strictly holiday fling with Decathlon ‘buy back deal’ — but it felt like a costly option. After spending most of our first three days in Munich rehearsing ‘to buy or not to buy’, I put my foot down. “Time to commit,” I said.

And so, on Saturday, CS finally pledged himself to a sturdy German number: a Kalkhoff Endeavour 24. Kalkhoff is mostly known for its electric bikes, but no sparks here—this is an old-fashioned leggy sort. A pragmatic choice, really, and mostly to stop me whinging.

I am not known for my patience. And we had arrived in Munich a little depleted. Having boarded in Perth, in the Land Down Under ‘where flights are long and men chunder’ (prophetic lines from the iconic Men at Work, slightly repurposed here) CS was struck down by his traditional long-haul migraine, topped off with a mild case of Bangkok belly, courtesy of some delectable bites in the Thai Airlines lounge during our two-hour layover.

At that same airport, my new pannier—supposedly designed to transform into a backpack with the flick of a strap—snapped a plastic bit and was now a sack with attachment issues. Then somewhere over the India-Pakistan border, I dropped my phone charging cable between two airline seats. The flight crew sprang into action and unearthed a mountain of torn plastic wrappers. My charger, however, was forever lost in the mysterious vortex of airline seat mechanics.

For reasons I blame entirely on media stereotypes, I always expect the smoothest airport arrivals in Germany. But when several plane-loads disgorged simultaneously in Munich, the arrival hall developed the kind of calm and order reminiscent of Madras Airport, circa 1984—only without the dozens of porters on hand to manhandle you into the right queue.

Having abandoned all hope of finding signage or sense, I was pondering the big question—“Is German orderliness a myth?”—when I spotted a woman waving a yellow flag, shepherding a flock of tourists clutching laminated itineraries. We followed her brisk movements through the chaos, into the promised land: i.e. the correct queue and soon emerged into the sunshine and the blessed efficiency of the German train system.

On the S-Bahn (Munich’s suburban railway), a chatty UK expat—resident in Germany for “20 years”—reassured me that our airport experience had to be a “rare aberration.” The rest of our Munich experience bears this out: Germans do, indeed, lead the world in punctuality, efficiency, beer, and pretzels.

Things continued to improve. An email from Tobi, the bike guy, confirmed that my own noble steed—a Specialized Sirrus X3 (see previous post for details of the search)—was ready for pickup. So now we both have our mounts, and only time will tell how well-suited we are for the long road ahead.

Meanwhile, I’ve found new love: an extraordinary variety of delectable local breads. I’ve sampled at least 12 kinds (more, if you count dumplings). I’m not over-indulging; I am carbo-loading — which, I understand, is the best way to prepare for the endurance needed over a thousand kilometres on a bicycle😋 That test will start in two days!

No doubt some wise person has said this already: like the glorious leavening of dough into bread, best journeys are slow and transformative.

But wisdom is not allaying my doubts: can we go the distance???