Cycling Europe with a baby finished today, in the yard of a 500 year old farmhouse in the south west of England.Today we secured work and accomodation in Bridgwater, Somerset. We will be staying here for at least the next 8 weeks before heading home to Melbourne, Australia.

5 countries, 1,300 kilometres, 53 days, a tandem, trailer and tent. and a LOT of pastries! What an adventure we have had!

We have ridden through rain, crowds, fords (the watery kind not the vehicular variety), forests, factories, fields, stinging nettle, sweet-smelling orchards, quaint villages, tunnels and castles. We have ridden over mountains, swinging bridges, beaches, ancient ruins and a small green snake. We have ridden on boulevards, bikepaths, towpaths, footpads, footpaths, ferries, clifftops, platforms and tiny cobblestoned lanes. We have ridden past war cemetaries, windmills, emus (in belgium), ships, nuclear power plants, fields of poppies, acres of corn, german beer gardens, french vineyards and the chalk white cliffs of Dover, England.

We have survived mislaid postal items, illness, injury, storms, heat-waves, foreign trains, lost toys, dodgy maps, dodgy directions (given by tourist office staff who wave their arm languidly and grunt when you ask where a supermarket is), 15 punctures, over 40 trangia dinners, two and a half months in a tent and suspiciously green water bottles.

We have enjoyed awesome views, amused smiles, great cheese, the kindness of complete strangers, beautiful architecture, belgium waffles, waving riverboat owners, cheering pelatons, very tight bottoms (our own), dinner-invitations, rain on the tent roof, amazing craftmanship and the excitement of a small belgian boy who grabbed the handle of the trailer and ran after us for 100 metres.

Below: Having arrived in Bridgwater, my big grin is the result of

1. Having had a great trip and

2. Being in a house with running water, electricity, a big leather couch and toys for Reuben!

Reuben is happy because there are 2 cats to play with.

We caught a train for much of the journey across the bottom of England. Three trains to be precise. It was an arduous journey as you would expect when trying to safely deliver a tandem, trailer, five bike bags, luggage, a toddler and two adults onto a bike-repellent English train. I think Timshel may be suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. If I mention the words "train" and "tandem" in the same sentence he starts shouting and his eyes go all wide and eye-bally.

I know I have been grumbling about English roads, bikepaths and trains, but the folk here are kind, interested and always ready for a laugh. And the men wear flat-topped caps. Our first train conductor chatted with us for the entire journey and assured us that our destination was a loverley spot with rather good scampi (shellfish in batter).

This is a lovely part of England, very Peter Rabbit. Meadows, moles, fields, fieldmice, hedgerows, hedghogs and pubs with frilly curtains .

Below: Some tunnels were so low we had to walk the bike throught. Knowing that the tour may soon end we asked our new friends at the campsite to take photos of us doing our thing. You don't get to see much of Reuben though ...

 I will be glad to return to a more civlised existence of four walls and a sprung mattress but am already thinking about our next trip. Even more now then before the trip I would recommend cycle-touring to anyone; it's a brilliant way to travel.

Some improvements for our next tour?

1. PACK clothing that dries overnight.

2. Carry businesscards with our web address and sponsor logos. We recieved an amazing amount of attention from the public and many of our conversations were cut short by our need to keep travelling. Giving out businesscards would be a good way of making the most of people's interest. We would also like to hang a banner from the back of the trailer with our (short and easy to remember!) web address.

3. Travel SLOWER, leaving more time for blogging and smelling the roses (and the cheeses, and the wines, and the salamis). Unfortunately our small budget and commitment to travel a long way meant we had to travel fast!

4. Try and get maps pre-trip if possible, by contacting the numerous companies that produce good cycle-specific maps.

5. Have a BIGGER budget so that we could indulge a little more in delicattessen shopping, organic produce and local restaurants.

6. ASK for directions, advice, help, and even to see a different campsite if the first doesn't impress!

7. Try and improve my knowledge of German and French. I unfortunately made the mistake of buying fabric softener instead of laundry liquid in Germany due to misreading the German label. Our clothes felt soft and smelt like frangipani but remained dirty. A lack of familiarity with written French saw me buy fermented milk instead of regular milk twice! Not much you can do with fermented milk really.

8. If a large swan happened to cross my path, I would sit down and have a cup of tea and wait until the swan moved on. I WOULD NOT try to remove, chase or lure the swan from the path, as I would know that this would prove entirely fruitless and potentially hazardous.

Oh, I haven't let you know what we are doing! We do have a plan. Somewhere around here. I think it's in the front left pannier. Maybe the right. Try in the back of the trailer?

Ho well. From memory, we are riding to Somerset inorder to visit a bike company that make touring bikes and tandems. Timshel is thinking of spending some time working there to learn about frame-building, spokes and other such bikey things. So it seems our tour may soon end in the south west of England. Maybe. We will go and talk to the boss of the bike company on Friday. Our task before Friday is to cross the bottom of England. Hmmmmm.

Below: Met a friendly family in Washington, who, when we arrived at the campsite, offered us beers and a cheery hello. They have their own tandem and trailer and a little boy around Reuben's age. The kids swapped toys, and then played "Lets roll down the embankment and then chase ducks!".

Bloody English bikepaths.

We made the mistake of choosing a route which involved riding many kilometres on a mountain bike path. It was either that or ride on english roads, and trust me, you too would risk sliding along a mud track with teenage boys and suspension forks if it meant avoiding english roads. Or rather the drivers on said roads. Excuse my bitterness but I did spend quite a bit of time today bumping along, jarring my vertebrae and reminiscing about paved German bikepaths dotted with picnic tables, playgrounds, beer gardens and excellent maps. Sigh.

The scenery was beautiful. Though the peacefully rural scene of a recently cut straw field dotted with pheasants was somewhat disturbed by my husband uttering "I wish I had my crossbow with me".

Below: Look at those tree roots! We ended up pushing the bike for about 5 km. It was a very pretty push though, through green forest and golden fields

Ahhhh more rest time.

We wake up, lumber out of our tent, pack up sloowly and trot about town trying to find internet connection, food and currency exchange. In between we have numerous conversations of the 'What? Riding through Europe? You're brave' variety. After yesterdays contact with friends I find it a bit sad to keep going alone but I suppose one cannot have one's Chelsea bun and eat it too.

Below: More free internet beach-side, Reuben tackles those pebbles, and I am entranced by para-surfers.

The wedding was just lovely and quite worth racing across Europe for. Set right of the beach in front of the half-submerged remains of the old Brighton Pier it was an occaision full of colour and creativity. We rode up late after suffering 2 flat tyres on the way and tried to creep in quietly. It's quite impossible to creep quietly on a pebble beach; crunch, crunch, crunch. Seeing as we were in our smelly riding gear I half expected to be moved along, "I'm sorry this wedding is only for invited guests", but this bunch of friendly folk would be more likely to hand you a glass of wine than move you along.

After weeks of socialising only with strangers it was soo good to be met by those who knew our names! Reuben was the biggest social butterfly; re-aquainting himself with old friends as well as making new ones! see below

We have made it to Brighton in time for our friends wedding! I am suprised but chuffed. Finally we get a day to ....well, to NOTHING really. Actually there is something we have to do and that is make ourselves fit for human consumption. After 2 and a half months of camping I really need to do copious amounts of bathing, scrubbing, plucking, mending, washing and trimming before I am ready for an occaision. Timshel will just run a comb through his hair.

Speaking of hair, I cut Timshels hair at our campsite this morning, catching all of the hairy off-cuts in our groundsheet lest they end up in a neighbour's tent or worse-their dinner. Ergh. Reuben had the second haircut of his life, courtesy of Timshel, two nights ago in France. Just call us camp hairdressers. (That's a joke; camp hairdressers, get it?) We have nothing to wear to the wedding, and no room or money for new outfits, so we will just wear our (poshest) riding gear. This doesn't bother either of us much, we are just looking forward to seeing our friends.

After days (weeks I think) of packing up the tent every morning it is great to stop, rest, and stay in the one spot.

But enough of our life details, what is Brighton like?

Brighton is GRAND.

It has emerald green grandstands with rusty tendrils, a pebble beach that is quite chiropratic, and a beach carnival with colourful deckchairs and screaming teenagers. In town, you can join the waddling tourists waltzing about all that old world charm. Or you can put on your oversized sunglasses and join the Londoners sunning themselves on the beachfront. Either choice is accompanied by a soundtrack of calling gulls and Jamacian drummers busking.

Below: Reuben enjoys the pebbly beach, frocked-up ladies keen to get snapped, and Timshel finds a hot-spot (free internet access) on the beachfront.

After riding off the ferry and meandering throught a crazy labyrinth of little roads, road-trains, pipes, poles and gates we begin the steep descent up the chalky cliffs of Dover. When we reach Dover we hear a strange and foreign sound spoken by it's residents: the English language! We start to hear the content of people's comments about the bike and trailer:

Middle-aged woman leaning out of her car window, points at trailer "Did you make that yourself or can I buy one for myself?"

Keen 50+ woman on path "Aren't tandems fun? We have one too."

Thirteen year old girl "Coooll."

Balding man "Look at that Mavis. Why, I never."

Leaving Dover we pass the road-sign announcing "Warning: Falling Chalk" and begin the climb out of the valley. We are pedalling-bum-up head-down-up a big hill when a car pulls up alongside and the driver leans out the window.

"You're not trying to ride to Folkestone are you?"

"Aahh yes." We answer.

"Can't do it this way. The road is blocked, no traffic is let through."

"But this route is mapped on the National Bike Network map. Are you sure bikes can't get through?"

"No, nothing can get through" our local guide assures us.

He is quickly challenged by a bare-chested fourteen year old on a BMX who appears suddenly from behind a car.

"You CAN get through. There's a bridal path that goes right on through."

The BMX teen starts waving his arms and giving directions.

"You go straight up yeah? Then there's a little bridge over the motorway and you turn right after that. You follow it down the hill, right?, and then your'e there. Dead easy." The kid on the BMX disappears as quickly as he appeared.

We look at each other with bemused smiles. Timshel says "The local kids are always the ones to ask."

Below: Timshel is attacked by the bike trailer (during routine cleaning operation), and after seeing Timshel 'play' with the bike-pump so often Reuben had decided it must be a great toy.

Below: How do you get a loaded tandem andtrailer over a bike-rail that has been built stupidly narrow? Well, you can't under it (obviously), and you can't go around it (due to fences and a motorway) and you can't go throught it (because it was built for a ten year old's bike) so you'll have to go over it (grr.) I didn't get a photo of Timshel actually lifting the bike OVER because he had the flash of inspiration and just did it before I could ask "What are you doing?"

Goodbye Belgium, Hello France, Goodbye France. The giddying pace at which we pass through countries is about to slow and then it will be time to get off this fun-time ride. Today we both have moments where we pause and remember that we will be leaving the continent tomorrow. Pictured below: I swallow a little sadness with this morning's croissant;and Timshel regretfully puts on his shoes and socks after a last swim in the North Sea.

Our last full day on the continent, we hit the the 1000 kilometre m ark on our bike computer, and can't resist the temptation to take a cheesy "Hiii Muummmmm" photo.

If you read last night's blog our situation was as follows “Flat tyre, loaded bike, broken bike pump, no place to spend the night but very lovely scenery.”

Stuck in the middle of nowhere with our EIGHTH flat tyre and no accomodation in sight, we were not happy campers. However we did takd a brief break from our despair to peer down the road.
Shielding our eyes from the setting sun with our hands we seemed to see a camping sign. Was that a mirage, an apparition, before us? No, it was a campsite 300 metres down the road.

Don't you just love happy endings?

Above are examples of Reubens “Hello” attitude to complete strangers. I think it's great and truly inspirational.

Oh, and if you are ever on, near, or nearabouts the north coast Belgium, go to this little waffle shop on the promenade in Middlekirke and buy yourself a deep-fried yeasty crispy soft sugar-dusted waffle for two euro. It will change your life! Well, maybe.

We emerge from the train station at Oostende blinking like moles in the bright light.

Before us yachts dance upon the water and pedestrians stroll the promenade whilst gulls circle and dive with noisy calls. “Wow”, I say. I hear a little mimicking “Wow” from the trailer. This is the northern coast of Belgium and we are here to see if we can catch a ferry to England.

After weeks of watching the landscape slowly change as we cycle, it feels strange to walk out of a train station and be met with an entirely new scene.

With it's white light and twinkling water, Oostende looks like a Belgian 'Surfers Paradise' (more waffles, less VB, more class, less surf).

Beachside apartments cast shadows on the beach and, as this school holidays, there are HUGE crowds. Our bikepath trip along the beachside is shared by strolling holiday-makers, horse and carts, and novelty-bikes-for -hire. The novelty bikes are hilarious and I am to spend our whole time in this area craning my neck as we pass yet another 8-seater bike, miniture ice-cream vendor bike, recumbent bike and plastic horse on wheels.

I am writing this blog retrospectively as my original jottings were lost due to toddler-inspired computer malfunction but looking at the photos I remember what a big day it was and how it contained many of the elements present in this tour: gorgeous scenery, chats with strangers, flat tyres, tiredness, and the contagious exuberence of a little boy running from scene to scene.

We had to stop a deflating 8 times to deal with flat tyres.

After waking early and packing fast to catch the train we discovered a very flat tyre on the tandem's back tyre. We replaced the tube and jumped on the bike and aaalllmost made it to the station before we had to stop and pump up the spare. We limped through the rest of the day; stopping to pump up the tube when we needed to keep moving and stopping to try and patch the tube when opportunity allowed. Because the problem was with the back tyre, each stop necessitated the removal of the sleeping bags, back panniers and trailer connection.(When I say “we” I mean Timshel, as whilst he sweats about with all that rubber I generally tend to sigh and look wistfully at the horizon).

A trip to the tourist information centre informs us that we cannot catch a ferry from Oostende. So we will ride further down the coast and into France where we may have more luck with the port of Dunkirke. I don't know if we will make it to this wedding ...

For Reuben, a flat tyre on the beach is an exuse for a swim. As I watch him play in the waves I realise that this is a nice chance to pause and enjoy the beauty of this place.

As the day progresses we are struggling to find a campsite. In this tourist town of holidaymakers in thongs (both kinds) there are plenty of 'holiday parks' sporting acres of tiny chalets but no tent sites. So we wander from place to place alternatively getting lost, turned away or referred to a place that “may” have space for us. After a while we get smart and use the digital camera to photograph an on-street map of the town. I spend the next 20 minutes tryng to balance no hands on the back of the tandem whilst squinting at the viewing window of the camera, zooming in and out to find the street we need. We seem to be getting where we want to be but also discover another flat tyre. Much cursing. Timshel is so frustrated he breaks the bike pump. More cursing.

Flat tyre, loaded bike, broken bike pump, no place to spend the night but very lovely scenery.

This morning's ride began with a mist that lifted to reveal another surreal industrial landscape.

It was like riding through a scene from a futuristic arthouse film with apocalptic themes.

Huge wind-harvesters cut the sky with their blades, barges sunk through the murky water and shipping containers sat like stacked leggo.

Despite the frivolity of the last few blog entries, Timshel and I are really pushing ourselves.

Our dilemna is this: We have committed ourselves to riding (kind of) across Europe, but our funds are getting low and that means our time is running out. So we are riding fast, spending little and trying to be good parents along the way! I'm finding it difficult to do all three. After a day of pedalling 60 kilometres I really want to fall in a heap but Reuben has been sitting in the trailer all day and wants to PLAY PLAY PLAY. He also wants some physical affection I think. So he crawls all over our prone bodies and chases birds, whilst I try and rouse myself to cook our tea. Cook? I don't want to cook! But alas, no budget for anything else. Groan. Must move legs. Oh, look, there is a little boy gnawing on my knee for attention.

Timshel murmurs something about doing longer distances and I throw a packet of quick-cook rice at his head and silently swear to not peddle for the first 10 km of tomorrow's ride.

We are still aiming to get to England by the 19th of July for a friends wedding. I delicately suggest to Timshel that we catch a train. Resorting to train-travel, again, feels whoosy considering we orginally told our sponsors we would “Ride 2,500 km” (we've ridden 1,000 thus far), and travel through “10 countries” (we've been to 8 but only ridden through 4 thus far) but throwing packets of rice at your husbands head is hardly sustainable. It is time to compromise.

On our way to the station we see an aspirin capsule on wheels, a castle, and a belgian cow calling “Dyylllaannn”.

“I am aware that you couldn't do this kind of trip with all toddlers (for example, thankfully he [Reuben] is not a wanderer and generally keeps within 15 metres of us).” direct quote from an email written at start of trip

Foolish woman!

I forgot the first rule of parenthood “Thou shalt not boast or indeed utter any word of certitude concerning thy child.” Reuben has become a wanderer. This is agony when you are on the road and camping. His wanderings have been encouraged by a very lovely aspect of European culture that we have enjoyed immensely: the giving out of sweets and treats to toddlers.

This caravan park is hardly advertised nor sign-posted and is pretty much composed of a group of old couples who like to holiday together. This means lots of old ladies. For Reuben this means that this caravan park is a drive-by take-away treat-feast.

Shelley: Where is Reuben?

Timshel: He was hear a minute ago ...

Shelley: Reuuubeennnnn?

Enter Reuben with a spekula (dutch spiced biscuit) that is so big he has to hold it with two hands

Shelley: Where did he get that?

Timshel: I think he got it from Helga at no.4., she is waving from her deckchair.

Reuben pretty much spent the whole afternoon wandering from caravan to caravan collecting treats. I counted 5 treats in a few hours: 2 spekula, 1 pile of grapes, 1 belgian waffle and some wafers. He would of spent the afternoon wandering from caravan to caravan if there were no treats because he is curious about LIFE, but I can't help but wonder if the treats are reinforcing his tendency to wander.

We have spent most of our trip keeping a close eye on Reuben whilst we go about setting up/packing up/cooking etc. Now he requires more than our concerned glances. We pretty much have to follow him around; that is, one of us has to be on full-time Reuben-duty whilst the other cooks tea/breakfast/packs up/sets up etc. It is nice to spend the time with Reuben but it means nothing happens in a hurry!

Below are photos of us leaving the aforementioned campsite, some glorious grafitti we encountered, and an anti-ship gun from one of the world wars.

The flemish language is fascinating, described by one dutchman as “Dutch as it was 400 years ago”.

Timshel keeps remarking on how close Flemish is to English but it looks like gobbleydook to me. I think the word below means bikepath network.

I reckon that the Dutch realised that their language needed to be a little more 'user-friendly' and moved on ...

Flemish, when spoken, is quite gutteral and is a blend of German, French and English. If you knew all three languages you could probably work out a lot of Flemish. Our campsite tonight is amongst beautiful Belgian forest. Reuben can barely walk over the pinecones that cover the ground surrounding our tent and the pine trees smell like christmas and soar up and up and up.

The playground is full of tanned five year olds clad only in bathers, no hats, no tops or sunscreen; I am constantly amazed at the European attitude towards sun protection! Sunbathers are very common, adopting as their motto Strip, Flip & Kip (strip off your gear, flip yourself over and have a long kip) rather then the Australian Anti-Cancer Foundation's Slip, Slop & Slap (slip on a shirt, slop on some suncreen, and slap on a hat).

Can you see our reflection in the brasserie window? (squint if necessary)

The Ginormous statue below is of Sir Bertrande Phillip the III, patron for the Royal Society of men who like to wear very tiny shorts (RSOMWLTWVTS), see left of statue.

“Are you sure this is a bike path?” I shouted above the din of a conveyor belt.

“Yes”, Timshel yelled over the roar of a loader.

He added “The bike path takes us straight through all these factories and plants.”

What started off as a sweet riverbank path, soon became a canal track and then a tour-by-bike of the industrial heart of Europe. We found ourselves not riding past but THROUGH huge factories, plants and mines, UNDER loading machines filling the belly of barges in the canal, and OVER bridges that gave a view of piles and piles of multi-coloured sand.

WARNING: RIDICULOUSLY LARGE BLOG ENTRY BELOW

We lost Reuben's favourite toy!

'Little blue car' was the toy that Reuben would look for every morning, his little face lighting up when he saw it “Car! Car!” Today we accidently left it on the train.

I suspect we lost it when someone who was a bit drug-addled sat in our momentarily abandoned seats. We retrieved our luggage and moved to other seats. Shortly after this, Reuben began to point at the bloke and call “Mum! Mum!” to get my attention. As Reuben was already quite grumpy, tired and thirsty (we had stupidly forgotten to bring water in the craziness of getting on the train) I thought Reuben's gesticulation were a result of 'he stole my seat' feelings! The guy on drugs was staring at Reuben with a glassy 'not quite there' stare so I was keen to redirect Reuben's attentions. As we prepared to leave the train, Reuben became more upset and my guilt at forgetting to bring his waterbottle had me assuring him that a drink would soon arrive.

Getting off the train was chaos; Timshel running to the back of the train to get the tandem and trailer off whilst I put Reuben in the child back-pack and managed two of our panniers. The train, like those in Italy, Luxembourg, England and France, had steep stairs down to the platform. Having made it down to the platform we found more stairs leading down to the street. Groan. Jiggling the backpack to try and console Reuben I held an overloaded trailer stuffed with panniers whilst Timshel took the tandem down the stairs. He left the tandem at the foot of the stairs and raced up the stairs to help me unload the panniers before taking them down to the bike and returning again to help haul the trailer down the stairs. Bike-touring is easy until you try and combine it with trains!

Once at street level I raced into the nearest cafe to ask for a glass of milk, using every word for milk that I knew (German “milch”, french “lait”, swahili “mgulu”) and performing my 'drinking a glass of water' mime piece with flailing limbs.

It was when I was giving Reuben his drink that I noticed the absence of blue car.

“I think we've lost little blue car” I whispered to Timshel.

“I know” he said.

Reflecting on our movements the penny started to fall as I realised Reuben's blue car had probably been left under the bloke who had mistakenly sat in our seats! A moment of further reflection had me realising that we were in a foreign city with a tourist office that was going to close in 10 minutes. Looking at the map, the tourist office looked about 15 minutes away.

I burst into tears proclaiming “He loved his little blue car!”

Reuben looked at me with interest and continued munching his biscuit.

My guidebook assured me that I would hate or love the Belgium city of Liege.

Described as “sprawling”, it has a grungy feel to it that reminds me of my own suburb of Footscray in Melbourne, Australia. Liege is in Waloonia, the french-speaking southern part of Belgium and the city seems to have some of the style of France sans the pretension. It has a huge mulit-cultural popluation, vibrant cafes, cobblestoned streets and a big bird avairy with budgies in it. I decide I like Liege. After a tea of burgers and chips in a turkish kebab place, we manage to find a campsite address by asking at a Backpackers hostel. After argueing over whether to spend the night in the backpackers on not, we ride out to the campsite along the riverbank.

We get a flat tyre on our way to the campsite, fix it, and when we arrive are met by a booming frenchman with fuzzy black hair. From the verandars of their tiny wooden chalets the locals debate where we should put our tent; I don't think they get many visitors here! The local campsite kids gather about the trailer and wave at Reuben, and then introduce him to the playground. I collapse onto the grass, the day's events running throught my head; a new country, a train trip with tandem, trailer and toddler, a lost toy, a closed tourist office, an arguement, a flat tyre and a booming frenchmen with fuzzy black hair. Staring at the still-blue sky I reflected that although the joy of travelling is the adventures you can have in a day, some days can hold TOO many adventures.

Lesson learnt: If one authority says “No”, try another.

Every ten year old knows this rule but I think every traveller should re-acquaint themselves with it. Several times on this trip we have found different people provide different answers!

After some discussion, Timshel and I decided to try and take our tandem and trailer on the train, over the mountains of southern Belgium. We asked one train station attendent if we could take tandems bikes on Luxemburg trains and he said “NO” in a variety of ways, all of them very definite. We protested that in Germany we were told it was possible and then slinked away to lick our wounds. A lunch, play, and park-bench snooze later, we returned to the same train station to ask if we could take our tandem on Belgium trains.

We were re-informed “You can take your tandem bike on Luxemburg trains if you want.”

Ahggghh! We had packed up our tent early to be at the train station early so that we could catch the train at midday and arrive at our destination with time to find a campsite. Now it was mid-afternoon. We decided to catch the train anyway.

The decision to take a train was largely due to financial necessity. Our funds are running low so we have decided to try and get to England ASAP. Why England? Firstly, a few potential job offers exist; secondly a few friends may help us with accomodation; thirdly, our return flight home is from nearby Edinburgh. The date we are aiming to arrive in England by is the 29th of July. Why the 29th? This date is the day on which a family friend of Timshel's is getting married in sunny Brighton. A nice reason to race across a continent I think.

For someone who advicates 'slow' travel, I hate to be travelling to a deadline but I think this is the best option for us. The other options include selling vital organs or borrowing money, both of which I would like to avoid.

“So Luxemburg is a country?” I ask.

“Yes it's a country” says Timshel disgustedly.

“Well I had never heard of it!” I protest.

Now Geography is not my strong point, but I not a complete nuff-nuff either: Luxemburg is not very well known. Nestled between Belgium, France and Germany, Luxemburg is pretty country famous for ... errr, not much I suppose.

We arrrived in Luxemburg without realising, after catching a ferry across the Mosel river. We didn't plan to catch the ferry but stumbled upon it when riding alongside the river. Watching it cross to our side of the river we discussed the idea; it seemed like fun, Reuben would love it, and the ferry's existence meant that there wouldn't be a bridge for a while yet!

By the time the ferry arrived Reuben was out of the trailer and waving enthusiastically as a huge three-wheeled motorbike roared off the ferry. His waving paused for a moment as he tried to comprehend the apparition that had just passed.

Our fellow ferry passengers were some very tanned european cyclists, and as we found seats and parked our bikes I reflected again on how easy it is to cycle in Europe. Bike paths aplenty, sympathetic motorists, good weather, towns every few kilometres, and lots of punts and ferries. As we were about to leave dock a gleaming white cadillac drove onto the ferry. It was driven by two well-dressed older gentlemen who seemed to fit in with 'old money' feel of the area. Sporting my hand-washed and rather feral cycling nicks, teamed with a general air of dishevelment (lost our comb, run out of deodorant a few days back) I felt rather self-concious.

After rolling off the ferry I spotted a speed sign with an encircled L on it. Several cars nearby also sported the same symbol.

“I think that's the sign for Luxemburg. Are we in Luxemburg?” I asked Timshel.

“No, I think it's further east. (Pause) Actually, we could be you know.”

This river-side town of old buildings beautifully maintained was indeed in Luxemburg. Luxemburgers (no fries with that, snigger snigger) speak Luxemburg, a germanic language influenced by French and English. I didn't know what to speak when doing my shopping, so resorted to using all of the above.

“Ein Baguette, s'il vous plait? One, ja? Danke, Merci, Beauty, Ta, Au revoir!”

Combined with the exuberant pantomine I normally perform when speaking another language, (charades being the one truly international language) I think I created a general impression of amusing incompetence.

Photo below is of a bridge we rode under. Timshel and I agreed it was the highest bridge we have seen. To give you an idea of scale, driving on the bridge are big lorrie trucks. The other photo is a silouette created by the tent and the evening sun.

We are in what is thought to be the oldest city in Germany-Trier. It is a town of Roman ruins and quaint cafes, recommended by a friend. The tourist office is full of tourists clutching maps, guides and brochures and the ancient town square is full of lunch tables and the buzz of conversation. I glance enviously at the diners. How I would love an indulgent lunch with good wine and coffee! How I would love a free afternoon to wander about the town! It's not going to happen though; we both knew from the start of this tour that we would be living on the smell of an oily rag. We would be self-catering and camping,with little budget for sight-seeing or fine-dining. Travelling with a baby always means you will do less sight-seeing, and the combination of cycling, camping with a baby, self-catering and maintaining a blog meant this was very much a working-holiday. Our day in Trier would involve us getting a map to last us the next few days, shopping for luch and tea, finding a place to eat lunch, play and change Reuben's nappy and then moving on.

Most of the time I am happy with this arrangement; I prefer the simplicity and pace of our camping life. I love to watch the world go by as I cycle. My aim in travelling is to try and avoid the tourist-circuit and find out how the locals live, and so shopping for our food alongside the locals is a chance to improve our language-skills and learn what the locals REALLY eat. We make many friends from other places as we camp and live under the sun.

The richness of being here is in discovery, difference and education. The luxury in being here is that the majority of the world's population do not get the chance to travel to the other side of the world. I have a feast of the eyes and the indulgence of being with Timshel and Reuben. I believe in this way of travelling.

However I do have my moments of longing to check into a serviced hotel room, having a long bath followed by a very posh frock, and then leaving the hotel in search for a VERY long lunch.

Oh, did I mention that our latest adventures have included some gorgeous waterways, a snake, a puncture, a barge loaded with glinting scrap metal, and a cyclist with a bear in his basket?

I am learning that Europe is a big machine! Riding along this part of our canal route has been a mixture of the beautiful and the industrial. Farmland and forest and then BIG factories and plants. Not the most romantic at times but it is safe and flat; two things we need at the moment.

Somedays I take so many photos because there is so much to see! Today was one of those days ...

Kindness of strangers

One of my goals for this trip was to try and learn to be more friendly. The surprise I have had along the way has been that it hasn’t been very hard work at all. In fact, Timshel, Reuben and I have been overwhelmed with the kind gestures of complete strangers. We have also had some enlightening conversations and sometimes just quick little exchanges that make you smile.

Take this week for instance;

Monday night invited to tea at the home of a great German couple we met in Langatte, near Sarrebourg. Florian and Marion cooked a lovely meal for us, gave Reuben some yummy low-sugar lollies and a drink bottle of his own. Our big night out was a late night for Reuben and so he was pretty hyper when we got there but Marion and Florian were brilliant, helping to entertain and feed him and then offering the use of their bath! Being able to give Reuben a bath was great, being able to sit back whilst someone else tried to feed Reuben was so nice and eating off a ceramic plate-brilliant! Timshel and I later discussed how good it was just to have adult conversation over a beer on a balcony.

Tuesday Florian fixed the drum brake on our tandem. It had been playing up for over a week and Timshel had tried numerous methods to fix it but did not have the tools to do the job properly. Florian, a bike mechanic who part-owns his bike-shop, did a beautiful job. Timshel calls it the “Schuster modification” as Florian's surname is Schuster. We only have four dollars cash to give him, as we have yet to find an ATM in town.

Tuesday night I ask the campsite owners if I can plug in the laptop somewhere to charge, they say “Ja ja” and let me un-plug their video in order to plug in the laptop. “Will it be safe?” I ask, “Ja, we watch, we look” they say.

Later that night we are eating tea when a woman approaches us. “Stuhl?” she asks. She was offering us a lend of her chairs for the remainder of our stay. When Timshel goes to pick up the chairs he returns with an on-loan teddy for Reuben. It was her childhood teddy.

Wednesday We pack up to leave Saarbrücken campsite and so return the chairs and teddy to their owner. Timshel’s German is improving everyday so he stops for a chat with the woman, who says she lives 5 km away but comes here for her holiday. As he leaves she hands him a bottle of mineral water, cold from the fridge. It is another hot day so we gleefully fill our water-bottles with it. On our way out the gate of the campsite we have a brief chat with a well-travelled German man. He hands us some balloons “For the Kind (child)” he says. I hear a hissing noise and bend down to find the source, it is the mineral water in our water bottles. They hiss all the way into town.

Whilst Timshel is in an internet café uploading this website for the first time, Reuben and I are hanging about in the mall Saarbrücken. It is very very hot and I am so tired and Reuben is so active. I sit outside a pub for the shade and when a beaming middle-aged waitress approaches me (table service is the norm is German pubs) I order an Orangensaft (orange juice) in my very limited German. On a table nearby is another tired-looking mum with a very active two year old girl. Reuben and the little girl make friends. They point at each others shoes and sit down to compare them, then together wander to the next shop and start wobbling an advertising stand, giggling conspiratorially. The shop-owner smiles. After a brief totter through the tables the two little ones then enter the pub together. More smiles. A woman bends down to Reuben and says something to him in German. The waitress tells the woman to speak English, and I say we are Australian. “Australian!” they exclaim together. Whilst this exchange has gone on the two mischievious ones have headed into a back storeroom of the pub.  I dive in to retrieve them and when I come out the waitress has little packets of smarties for both kids. “Bye Bye” customers call from the bar “Ciao!”

6:30 Wednesday night we should be in a tent with tea cooking but are still on our bikes looking for the night’s camping site. Lost. Rain clouds about. I hate this situation as it means we are out of schedule for Reuben: a late tea means another late night. We stop to ask for help from an elderly German man on a yellow bike. He gives us explicit instructions in German, repeating himself several times and giving hand signals so that we understand. We head off and are halfway down the road when the gentleman rides past us and motions with his arm to follow us.

“Wunderbar! Dankeshön!” I call when we arrive safely at our Campingplatz. He rides off with a smile.

I would love to be the kind of positive parent that inspires their child to learn the word “Yes” before the word “No”. It would be great to have filled Reuben head with affirmations such as “Yes, embrace the world with wide open arms”, “Yes you a precious child of God”, “Yes, treat everyone with kindness and mercy”. Unfortunately it is not to be, as Reuben, who has not yet learnt to say “Yes”, has learnt the word “No”. “No” as “NO, don’t put your car in the porridge” “NO, don’t pull my armpit hair”  and “NO, DO NOT BITE!”.

Reuben accompanies his “NO” with a shaking of the head which Timshel and I find very amusing. We begin to laugh when Reuben does it, so Reuben is now in on the joke and accompanies his head shaking “No” with a big grin.

Staying in a strange combination of boatshed, biergarten (beergarden), and campingplatz (camping place). We pulled into a poorly-kept, small oval that was the campsite, walked through the beer garden to ask about the camping and watched over 20 huge-shouldered Germans haul a dragonboat out of the gate and down to the river. We had tea with the dragonboat drum booming in the distance. Bizarre.

Have I mentioned that the German's engineering wizardy extends to playgrounds? Reuben in currently conducting an extensive comparative study in European playgrounds, and his considered opinion is that the German playgrounds are far superior.

One of the best playground tools is the water-trough and water-pump combination. An old fashioned hand pump is installed above a wooden water trough which flows down to the ground via numerous canals. The children prime the pump by yanking the lever and when the water spurts out it flows into the trough. The children can then direct the water down the canals by opening and closing little wooden stoppers at the mouth of the canals, or they can dam the water before it leaves the trough.

The water play attracts a huge number of children of all ages. Rocks and sand are usually placed underneath the pumps so small children play with trucks and sand-pit toys in the sand-puddles. Older children prime the pump and busy themselves with controlling the flow of water. It is messy play given the sand and water but parents of little ones just take all their clothes off and the older kids dry with the exhertion of priming the pump!

Inspired by our stay in the community of Taize, France, I have been indulging in breakfast Taize-style: flat chunks of dark chocolate (70% cocoa) in white baguette. Reuben is also rather inspired.

Despite the noise levels, we decided to stay for another night in order for me to rest my dodgy knees. Timshel also needed to find a bikeshop to fix a drum-brake issue and his cycling shoe, and shop for supplies as all shops are shut on Sundays in France. Despite the inconveniance I do like no-trade on Sundays. I also appreciate the long lunch breaks of the french, 12.00-2.00 or sometimes 12.00-3.00.

It may mean we have to do our shopping early in the day but it is lovely to watch a shop owner flip her door-sign to “Ferme” (closed) and walk down the street with baguette in one hand and husband in the other. How civilised.

Had a cup of tea with a nice german couple, the bloke works in a bike shop and after we mentioned my dodgy knee, he suggested we adjust my seat position. He said that 4mm was the difference between pain and no-pain when riding in the Pyranees. Timshel had lowered my seat just before the dodgy knee started up so perhaps bringing the seat back down will solve the problem! Combined with resisting the urge for pre-breakfast mountain-climbing. Will have to wait and see.

Arriving in our campsite last night, we had a quick look around the pretty surrounds. A lake, huge oak trees, a playground for Reuben and eagles soaring above. How lovely I thought.

This morning I woke up to Slug City.

Slugs in the trailer, slugs on our bike, slugs on the tent and slugs IN the tent. Unfortunately, in a haze of exhaustion, we had left the food pannier out of the main part of the tent: slugs in our bowls. I despise slugs. Possesed by ‘slug-rage’, I went on a ‘seek and destroy’ mission, throwing or flicking the slimy brown buggers as far as I could before going to wash my hands several times.  Even the washing on the line got ‘slimed’. Disgusting. Ergh.

This campsite is very interesting.

The camping places we have been staying with have been predominantly for tourers. Campervans are HUGE over here so campsites are full of big white boxes that lumber in, stay a night, and crawl out again. A few bike tourers like us zip in and out, pitching small tents. The odd family will drive in and pitch a bigger tent. In the shower blocks you here Dutch, German, French, Italian and, occasionally English, spoken.

This campsite, however, is more of a long-term holiday spot for returning families. Many people are set up in on-site vans in a way that suggest they are either here permanently or for a few months of the year. Annexes with carpet, satellite dishes, old engine parts scattered about. Going by my toilet-block evesdropping, most of the holidayers here at the moment are German, because of the camp’s close proximity to Germany all signs are in French and German.

Fishermen walk past pulling little carts full of tackle and teenagers ride by on BMXs balancing inflatable rafts on their head. Twice a day 15 german men waddle down to the lake carrying a huge dingy, this always makes me giggle. Brown-skinned kids spend hours in the lake and then jump out to dry by riding around the campsite on their bikes (reminding me of my own childhood holidays).

Noise levels here are WAY UP. There is a fair amount of drinking and the subsequent huge burps into the night air. Sigh.

The ride from Saverne to Langatte was along canals that wound their way through green valleys.

We camped at a campsite at the foot of a large hill with a castle on top.

Gazing longingly at the castle and the hill, Timshel persuaded me to do some ‘extraneous cycling”. Assuring me that it ‘should only be half a kilometre’ up,  he suggested we wake early, pack fast, and leaving the heaviest panniers in the shell of the tent, ride up to the castle for breakfast.  Sounds kinda nice hey?

4 KILOMETRES later we arrived at the top of the mountain a heaving wobbly-legged mess.

The breakfast was nice, and the castle was well worth the visit but my kneecaps have gone on strike. Probably not the best idea to wake up, get dressed and climb a fir-tree tipped mountain with stone-cold muscles. Today was a long ride made longer by the fact that the accommodation marked on our map was 8 kilometres longer then expected. So for the last 10 kilometres I rode one-legged. Timshel, who was already handicapped by again losing the bolt that holds the cleat in his cycling shoe, said it was like riding on only one cylinder. It was so painful to pedal with my bad knee that I had to awkwardly perch it on the bike-frame. Balancing so that my own spikey cleated shoes didn't scratch the frame was a yoga-enthusiasts dream. Luckily we were riding through a rural area for that last 10 k, but I’m sure I saw a cow snigger.

Good to leave Strasbourg campsite as it was ill-kept and a little depressing.

With huge rainclouds brewing we did our fastest set-up ever in Saverne. Waitied for the rain ...and it didn't come! False alarm. I love the way we transform a loaded bike into a functioning home. Timshel and I have fallen into a pattern of set-up and pack-up and it makes it so easy as we go about our preferred roles automatically. Reuben “helps”.

After tea I turned around to find a middle-aged German woman walking towards us with a teddy in her arms. She bent down to Reuben and offered it to him. He looked at it and patted it on it’s head; he has learnt how to pat things with fur! She tucked it under his arm and stood up straight, smiling and talking to me in German. Reuben looked pleased. She looked pleased. I had no idea what she was saying but some idea of her sentiment and so I was pleased too.

What a lovely gesture.

It was perfect timing for Reuben to receive a teddy. He had not been very interested in soft toys previously, I think because they do not drive, kick or stack very well. However now he is ‘attaching’ to his toys a bit more, wanting to carry them about, giving them names and asking us to help him look for them when he cannot find them.

We’ve named this teddy Deutscher (German) teddy. He rides with Reuben in the trailer.

Photos from the last few days include crops growning on the outskirts of Strasbourg, a 'pillbox' machinegun bunker in Strasbourg, getting stuck in the rain and then offered refuge in the foyer of a french apartment block, fun car-trolleys in french supermarkets, riding the bike with tray full of pastries in one hand, riding into beautiful Saverne and Deutscher teddy.

There is a middle-aged man who walks to the campsite shower block in a tight and shockingly small pair of black jocks. I blush everytime, whispering “Timshel, there is that half-naked man again!” But now that I think about it, there is the girl who walks to the shower block in her chemise and knickers…  and the older woman who just whips a towel around  herself … and the young kid who just hangs about in a tiny pair of shorts all day… ooh yes we are in Europe! Never ever thought myself the prudish kind but it's all relative I suppose!

Timshel describes the French approach to nudity as more “Raunchy nudity” whilst the Germans are “Born free”. Regardless of whether there is water nearby, Germans tend to hang around campsites in their bathers on hot days. Putting the kettle on, reading the paper, riding their bike down to the sanitar, is all done in a pair of togs. This isn't svelte young things showing off their kit, it's people going about life in less clothes. In both France and Germany I have seen many women sans brassiere, many of them older women. Middle-aged man in tiny black jocks aside, I don't mind all this flesh about at all. Viva au natural!

After putting in some good work on the website, we will leave Strasbourg tomorrow. On the advice of the lovely New Zealand tourers we met a few days ago, and a German tourer we met in Kehl, we have decided to not ride up the Rhine. We will instead take a highly recommended smaller canal, the Canal du Marne au Rhin, through France, Germany and into Luxembourg. This is reputably a very pretty, and quite flat route, and with our load, FLAT IS GOOD.

Had a guest for dinner and our ground sheet caught on fire.

Bumped into an Aussie guy (a Melbournian!) we first met in Freiburg. He was staying at our campsite here in Strasbourg and so we thought we’d take the second opportunity to get to know him a bit more. Steve was great company, giving us an insight into other ways of touring, and providing me with a bit of an education about his work; outdoor ed.  It sounds very tempting to have bushwalking, hiking, skiing and rock-climbing as your day job! Steve excused himself after our main meal to call his girlfriend and Timshel put the kettle on for cups of tea. Noticing that we were out of water, he went to fetch some more. While they were both gone, I was doing my best to feed Reuben his tea, sometimes a challenge as he just wants to PLAY PLAY PLAY. I told him to sit down to eat and he promptly did so; on top of the (lit) Trangia.  The Trangia spilt it’s fuel onto the groundsheet and wwwooofff up in flames went the groundsheet. After removing Reuben from the scene, I stood looking at the black plastic curling and twisting for a moment. Timshel wasn’t in sight so we had no water, and there didn’t seem to be any suitable smothering device. Aha! Distilled water! I remembered we had some distilled water in a bottle, which we keep for watering down our Trangia fuel to prevent sooting of the bowls. It did the trick. Drama over. Ruined groundsheet.

People are very into the Tour de France here. Found one house whose owner was obviously very keen!

“Hey!” “Hello!” “Ahh, sorry do you speak English?”

Timshel saw another couple on a tandem and was quick to say “Hello”. Yesterday he spotted a couple on a tandem recumbent and missed out on a chat so he was keen to catch these folk before they rode off. They were another pair of 50+ tourers, Australians (!) from Perth. Great to have a brief chat about routes, reducing luggage and riding with Reuben before they left to sail down a canal. Good on em!

After camping in the forest in Germany, we pedalled over the Rhine again back into France.

Very strange to buy your breakfast in German “Ein croissant, zwei Bretzel, bitte?”, cross a bridge, and then have to resort to French again for lunch “Bonjour, un baguette, sil vous plait?”.

Strasbourg was full of tour de france enthusiasts, some dressed in polka dot jerseys (the champion mountain climber's prize jersey), others sporting flags or silly wigs. We were both feeling pretty stiff and sore from yesterday - 68 km day - so it was encouraging to be greeted with many smiles, and comments.

The race itself was something of an anti-climax. I was expecting hoards of spectators and arrived in our roadside spot early- no need. There were many people cheering but it was hardly ‘standing room only’. The  riders themselves, preceded by colourful team cars, zipped by in a blurr of colour, sweat, metal and ... conversation. The lads were having a good old natter! I suspect that they do not start seriously racing until later, perhaps when they are out of the city with a little more room for the 180+ throng to pass and jostle. I was a little nonplussed but Reuben loved the lumbering team buses and zippy team cars.

I spotted your flag and thought “Someone else from the antipodes!”

Met a great new Zealand couple, 50+ and experienced tourers and travellers. We chatted about maps, how to get water, food, accommodation, and the fun of cycling. It was great, and the contact with someone from home was a shot in the arm. We are missing Dylan.

Back on the canal paths again, they are very useful when travelling with a child. A path borders each side of the canal, and almost always one side is paved for bike travel. No cars. The paths are flat, except for the occasional short ascent when you come across a lock. There are picnic tables along the way for lunch-stops and your fellow journey-makers are other bike-tourers and houseboats. We detour off the canal path to find some lunch but otherwise ride past waving houseboat owners, lock-houses and herons.

We are travelling to Strasbourg with the aim of catching some of the Tour de France; it starts in Strasbourg this year. As we near the city, we encounter increasing numbers of serious cyclists riding in pelotons (groups). They look a bit scarey with their whip-thin lycra-clad bodies and sunglasses but are not backward in showing their bemusement and amusement at the sight of us. We are met with cheers, waves, thumbs up, and comments in French, Italian, German and Dutch (none of which we can decipher). Interestingly, solo cyclists are less demonstative in showing their suprise on encountering a couple on a tandem towing a child trailer. Timshel encounters the quizzical doubletake whilst I normally catch the slight smile of realisation. And then you have the occasional rider who doesn't blink an eyelid.

Made it to the French border. Today was 45 km, only 5 km more than yesterday, but I'm totally stonkered. We had a head-wind, and it was a +30 degree day. After a delightful morning riding through market gardens, we spent most of the day riding along a road beside the Rhine river. The Rhine is huge, and much more of an industrial river than the sweet canals and romantic rivers we had travelled along earlier. The road we travelled along had been built on the levy-bank of the Rhine. It was dead-straight, wide enough for cars, and  puncutated with signs (Actung! Verboten!) and  road barriers. Not a lot to see apart from the odd barge, though one of these did have a hills hoist on it's deck. Barge owners, often family operations, tend to park the family car on the roof of the barge, so it was interesting to see these parked like match-box cars on a toy boat. Reuben did very well, despite the heat, and seemed to be enjoying tractor-spotting and waving madly at cars. Reuben loves cars. His favourite toys are two blue cars, which he manages to not lose despite carrying them everywhere. He waves madly and says “Bye Bye” to most cars that pass us, and he can spot a picture of a car from 50 metres away. He has recently discovered that there are different kinds of cars-buses, tractors, trucks- I think it has rocked his world.

The irony of us bicycle-happy hippies peddaling around Europe with a toddler that excitedly yells “CAR! CAR!” every few minutes, does not escape me.

Luckily, we have been able to travel on bike paths 85-90% of the time, so most of his shouts are precipitated by the sight of his own toy-cars rather than the real thing.

We are away! On the road with each other, the tools we need and no campsite reservations whatsoever (argh! Hooray! Argh!).

We left Freiburg after sharing a lovely birthday breakfast with Dylan and girlfriend, Michelle. As we rode through the city gates for the last time I was feeling sadness for leaving them, and excitement to be hitting the open road. The most overwhelming emotion, however, was relief. After spending months working on, talking about, spruiking, discussing, planning and saving for this bike tour it is so good to be actually DOING it. Sitting in a (albeit lovely) German city not going anywhere had me feeling a little fraudulent, not to mention frustrated!

After being temporarily held up by a broken cleat in Timshel's cycling shoe, our first day's riding followed the Dreisam River, which will hopefully lead us to the Rhine river tomorrow. Riding by rivers is delightful: as we passed numerous orchards, fields and gardens we spotted a stork, huge hare and many tractors (a word Reuben recently learnt to say!). 

Our campsite for the night surrounds a large lake so I write whilst sitting about 1 and a half metres from the shoreline! Fish are leaping out of the water and jumping back in, a nice splish splosh soundtrack to have in the background. With thunder rumbling about the hills threateningly, Timshel and Reuben took a quick dip in the day's left-over warmth, before leaving for a warm shower. They just returned: warm showers require coins! That is so typical of the camping lifestyle; beauty, sensuality, grandeur and er ... domestic deprivation!

Speaking of suprises; had just written that sentence when the thunder got really serious and decided to announce some rain with a huge clap. It suddenly started bucketing. The tea stuff, laptop, camera, tandem and tools were all out on the picnic table. So, with Timshel still at showers with Reuben, it was up to me to get everything into the tent before the lot was swept into the lake with the downpour.

I leapt up, grabbed the camera and laptop and promptly fell over the leg of the picnic table, falling whilst holding the laptop in front of me like a cricketer diving for a catch.

Limping to the tent, I dumped the gadgets, and pulled on the raingear before returning for the rescue of the rest of our guff. Day one on the road and the raingear gets put to use! Feel much better about customs debacle now.

It being our first day on the road I was very camera-happy. At least the photos give you an idea of our basic day: pack up, depart, picnic and play, ride and walk-about, ride and set-up/play then collapse in a happy heap!

Reuben woke at his usual time of 7.30am this morning. Feel relieved for his sake and less of a social parriah.

Raingear retrieved sulkily from the customs office. Almost 60 euro poorer-ouch! But I expect to be thankful when riding through torrential rain in Luxenbourg 3 weeks from now.

We have decided to stay in Freiburg until Thursday so we can celebrate Dylan's birthday.

Then AWAY! 

Apologies for those who feel cheated for having to sit through ELEVEN blog entries before we actually GO anywhere.

Essential bike bits lost in the mail, red-tape, medical emergencies, hold-ups and mishaps, ahhhh it's all part of the adventure.

Below are some photos taken one afternoon by the Dreisan River in Freiburg. The weather was so hot that it melted our after-lunch chocolate treat so Michelle put it in a zip-lock bag and placed the bag in the river-natural refrigeration! The river was full of people wading, bathing, swimming and paddling. The riverbank was dotted with sun-bathers. I was impressed, it seems Germans love the outdoors as much as Australians. According to Dylan, Freiburg-ers are somewhat selective, waiting for lovely weather before heading outdoors. When the weather does fine up EVERYONE'S out with their bathers and towel ...or just a towel.

I write from a new location, a good 100m from our old spot. We are still in Freiburg, still at the same camping place, but in a new campsite. It's very lovely; green, lush, bird-filled with fire-flies at night. Having fire-flies zipping about is a bit like living in a Disney production but very delightful.

It turns out that we weren't the only ones Reuben was disturbing with his early morning wake-up call.

The manager of the camping place received a complaint from our neighbours so we offered to move to an area where we would be less of a distubance. So I am writing this at 7.30 in the morning in the silence left behind when Timshel took Reuben for a ‘keep the neighbours happy’ walk. I am anxious for Reuben to return to his usual sleeping pattern soon, we are hoping that this early morning waking is a 'passing phase'.

The Good News: now that the hitch has arrived and the website is nearing a state of readiness to be posted, we will be leaving next week. Great!

No naked folk walking down the street today.

Reuben woke up at 5.40am this morning.

It is getting light at 4.00 in the morning and the tent provides little barrier to the light, despite the fact that I have draped an extra fly around Reuben's half of the tent. Reuben has often stirred early in the morning, but whilst in the past he would make a few murmurs and then go back to sleep, now he is shouting loudly for his morning breastfeed! If we were in a secluded spot we would let him cry for a while to see if he could settle himself but in a crowded campsite this is not an option! Sigh. Not sure what we will do about this.

Still working on website. Have decided to pay the tax and retrieve our raingear from customs.

Saw a woman walking start naked down the main street of Freiburg today. I didn't quite know what to do, checked to see if I had a jacket or blanket in the pusher so I could offer it ... didn't have anything. Dylan assures me this is an odd occurrence, even for nudist-happy, liberal Frieberg.

After confirming with the customs officials that a digital receipt would be sufficient, Dylan and Timshel returned to the customs office today with the email on our laptop.

“The receipt must be printed on paper”

“But you said a digital receipt was fine”

“It is fine, but it must be printed on paper”

So Timshel and Dylan then had to ride back to the city centre in order to find an internet café to print out 1 piece of paper (20 cents euro). They got lost on their way back and then got a flat tyre. After pushing the tandem through the industrial estates of Freiburg they happen to find a good bikeshop and repair the tyre.

On their return to the customs office they present a printed receipt.

“There may also be another fee to pay of 12%”

“Another fee?”

“Yes perhaps, I will see”

20 minutes later,

“Yes. You will have to pay a total of 28% tax on the goods”

“28% tax on goods that are a gift in the first place? Are you sure”

“Positive. This is german law, you must pay this.”

Dylan, armed with commonsense and the ability to speak good German, bravely fought a good fight, but to no avail. We would have to pay $57.00 Euro for the goods, or they would be “made Kaputten” on Monday.

So Timshel and I have a decision to make. Give up some excellent raingear, given to us in a show of good faith by Burley, or pay the German government their ransom. Quite cross.

Did I mention that Germany has THE BEST playgrounds?

Hitch has arrived! Hooray hooray!

We have also resolved the mystery of the missing rain gear. Our rain gear which Burley mailed to us from the US had seemingly been lost in the mail ... Now we have discovered that it has been waiting for us in customs. Today Timshel and Dylan visited the customs office to pick up the rain gear but got tangled in red tape

“You must prove that the goods are yours”

“We have several emails from Burley agreeing to give us the goods and then arranging shipping of the goods. The emails are  on our laptop just here.”

“You must prove that the goods are yours by proof of receipt, indicating the exact value of the goods”

“But we didn't BUY the goods they were given to us”

“The receipt must be in German”

“But Burley are an American company”

“You must come back with a receipt, and you will be charged 16% tax for the goods”

“Even though the goods are a gift?”

“Yes”

The box containing our good quality gear: rain-proof, wind-proof pants, jackets and helmet covers, was left on the counter as Dylan and Timshel exited empty-handed.

Tonight Timshel emailed Burley requesting a receipt for the goods.

Dylan, Timshel's brother, and his girlfriend Michelle took us to a beer garden for Inselhopf bier (beer)  and bretzel (big bread pretzel) today. I found myself with a huge pint glass in one hand, Bredzel in the other, and grown men wearing Lederhosen on the table next to us. Wunderbar! I like Germany!

As the days go by my feet are getting increasingly itchy. I want to start our tour! From our own tent on a hill we have been watching the campsite fill up and then empty with each new tide of travellers. It was an interesting phenomena to watch at first — the green lawns disappearing under the weight of white-boxed campervans and colourful tents. But now it's just depressing me.

Still no sign of the hitch or raingear. In the meantime finishing the (this) website is a job that seems to go on and on ... Lucky there are kooky-shaped bretzels, and excellent company, to keep my spirits up.

The German word for play is spiel (pronounced 'shpeel'). So when we use the word spiel in English, as in “She went on with this huge spiel about European Modern Art” it's derivation is the german word for play. I find this very interesting (don't know if anyone else will) and a good example of how learning other languages can improve your understanding of your own tongue.

Reuben's cold is almost completely gone. The weather is warming up, and we are enjoying the creeks and becks of Freiburg, and spending time with Timshel's brother Dylan and his girlfriend, Michelle. Neither our missing rain gear or the ‘alternative hitch’ have arrived in the mail. We cannot leave without the hitch, but are using this time to finish ‘kitting out’ the bike and building the (this) website for the tour.

After some discussion with other travellers and friends, we have decided to fly the Australian flag from the trailer's flag pole. We are hoping that it will make us more approachable, and provide people with a conversation-starter “You are Australian?”.

Our maiden journey was home from the hospital at 1am through crowds of happy roaring German fans.  Not quite what I had envisioned for our first family ride on our new tandem. After Timshel arrived home with the bike, we put Reuben to bed and sat down to a quiet tea together. The quietness was broken by the excited roar of German fans watching the world cup clash between Poland and Germany in the campsite restaurant. Germany was winning! Just listening to the fans was exciting! Dylan and his girlfriend Michelle joined us  and we laughed at how funny the crowds sounded in their corporate oohhs, ahhhs and YAAAss. Before leaving for the shower, I commented that Reuben sounded like he was whimpering in his sleep; perhaps a bad dream or night tremour I thought?

I came back from my shower in the fading light to a very worried father cradling a sick child. 

“His breathing is really weird” Timshel said.

I bent down to listen to Reuben breathe. He wasn't wheezing but it sounded like it he was having diffuculty breathing. Scarey. He was obviously sick, clingy to Timshel for dear life. Timshel checked Reuben's temperature, it was high. So, after giving Reuben a quick dose of paracetamol, we decided to take him into the hospital. With 2 good translators on hand (Dylan and Michelle), we decided it was better to go now then wait until 3am in the morning.

We gave Timshel Michelle's mobile phone and left him at the campsite whilst the four of us walked to the hospital.

Germany had won the world cup match!  It was nearly 11 pm but the streets were alive. It was wild; people hanging out of cars waving German flags, residents leaning from their balconies to yell “Deutschland Deutschland Deutschland!”, and what seemed to be the entire population of Freiburg partying on the street. Most people seemed to be on their way to or from world cup parties; car horns were being leant upon, and bikes were weaving through the foot traffic. As we neared the city things got a little scarier with the odd fight and broken beer bottle. It was a surreal experience to say the least.

As we made our way closer to the hospital, Reuben began to improve. I'm not sure if he wanted to join the big party happening all around him, or if the paracetamol was taking effect, but by the time we got to the waiting room Reuben was well enough to waddle happily to the toy box. I felt really bad.

Dylan and Michelle had just walked 45 minutes through a minor riot at midnight and our “emergency patient” was happily pushing his stroller around the foyer bbrrmmmmm.

It was after 12.00 when the Doctor examined Reuben, asked some questions, and suggested that perhaps congestion in Reuben's nose had been forcing him to breathe through his mouth. We were prescribed some nose drops and given instructions to return the next day for a urine test. Timshel arrived on the tandem just as we were leaving; so in the hospital car-park we tucked a sleepy Reuben into the trailer, and farewelled Dylan and Michelle. A tandem pick-up! The Doctor wandered out for a break in time to wave us off amusedly.Timshel and I rode our maiden journey through the still-crowded streets of Freiburg, with the sound of car horns and cheers bouncing through the night.

Freiburg, Germany seems the perfect place to begin a european bike tour. Known as the ‘bike capital’ of Germany, it has more bikes then people!

Recumbent bikes, retro-bikes, cargo-bikes, scooters, bike-trailers, wagons, bikes with baskets, touring bikes, three wheel bikes, painted bikes ... the list goes on.

There is as much variety in the riders too - old men with cigars, young women in stilettos, and muslim women riding with burkhas billowing. Bikes are seen as a valid form of transport for everyone!

I never realised how rare it is see middle-aged women on bikes until I came here and saw them everywhere.

The regular sight of 10 metre long bike-parking areas FULL to capacity makes my heart sing, but why wouldn't you ride here? There are wonderful bike trails along clean rivers  and bike sections on most streets in the city. The fact that there are so many cyclists does make the streets safer as motorists are used to sharing the roads. I spent a two hours walking around town this afternoon and saw at least 10 bikes with baby trailers!

In Melbourne, Australia the site of our bike trailer is a strange apparition. Here, it is just a normal way of getting around town with the kids.

Freiburg, not surprisingly, is a refreshingly quiet city for its size. I spent this afternoon dangling my feet in her clean river and watching people whiz through the sunlight on their ride home. A nice way to live I think.

Tonight Timshel rolled into the campsite at 8pm with a grin on his face. After spending two days fiddling about in a German bike shop, we have a fully assembled tandem and trailer! We have yet to receive the special hitch we need to tour with, (it seems it was not sent) but can make do for the 5-7 working days it should take for the hitch to be sent to us. We will need the special hitch to accommodate two loaded panniers but for now a regular hitch should do the job.  It is too late to go for a maiden-ride now but first thing in the morning we will be off into the black forest! I can't wait!

The journey began months ago really ...
From Australia, to Scotland, to England, to Spain, back to England, to Italy, to France, to Germany ... it has taken us a while to get here but today in Freiburg, Germany, we collected an assortment of boxes that contain our tandem, trailer and panniers. “Cycling Europe with a baby” is about to get wheels!

We left Australia with the intention to tour Europe by bike, but upon arrival in February, were also keen to drop in on friends, and communities “in the area”. So many cups of tea, six countries, and four months later, we are here with a bike, our equipment and many adventures already had!

It has been a wonderful journey already thanks to the hospitality and inspiration given by the Igoe-Cochrane and Shogren families, Chris Hobart and Claire Russell, Sarah Lausberg and family, and the Community of Taize. Thankyou!

Of course it has not been four months of continuous tea-drinking and cultural learning for us. We have also spent the last four months working to raise funds, and arrange sponsorship agreements for this trip.

So many thanks to Burley for supplying us with a trailer and wet weather gear as well as a reduced-price tandem, and thankyou to Arkel for providing half-price panniers.

Thanks also to Dylan Knoll (Timshel's brother) for not only providing us with a shipping address in this lovely German city but also being wonderfully supportive of our crazy ideas.

Now pass the swiss army knife, it's time to get these boxes open!

A Hitch

In a flurry of excitement, Dylan and Timshel rip open the boxes, and start to try and piece together the maze of tubes, chains and screws.

Our tandem is green, lean, beautiful. Trailer looks very big with room to move for Reuben. Panniers lots of fun with pockets galore.

Reuben likes the packaging bits: boxes, nice glossy brochures and tags galore.

Our rain gear seems to have been lost somewhere between the USA and here. (I think there is a customs officer staying nice and dry in our rain-gear!)

A special hitch that we need to connect trailer and tandem for the tour is missing ... hmmm.