China to the UK by bike - Chapter 6

‘But the UK isn’t in Europe…

Fountains by the Rhine in Germany. Everything seemed so perfectly pretty across Central Europe.

An amused smile slowly stretched across the face of the Hungarian border guard. ‘Your country is not in the EU. Only EU citizens can use this border’. I pleaded with him, but he was having none of it. The funny side of the situation was not lost on me - I had complained to my father that he and his generation voting to leave the EU was only going to harm the freedom of travel for our generation, and now I had the most solid proof I ever needed to tease him with. But that didn’t change the fact that it was incredibly annoying to have to take a long detour to a larger border crossing where other nationalities could be processing, and face the long queues that I would inevitably find there. Even before I had set foot in Hungary, I could sense that it was not going to be as friendly to foreigners as I had experienced so far - the long expanses of barbed wire were proof enough of that.

When I finally made it across, I found it what also much more expensive than Eastern Europe and Central Asia, so settled down for a night in the tent. But I was starting to feel feverish after limited sleep and pushing myself too hard over the last few days. I had limited strength and patience when I woke, and really didn’t need the struggles I experienced when trying to get another SIM card at the next town. The shop assistant claimed I couldn’t get a SIM card as I wasn’t a Hungarian resident. I argued that Hungary couldn’t possibly be a country where tourists were not allowed access to mobile phone use, and cited all the information I could find online about getting a Hungarian SIM card. In the end he relented, but it further cemented my worries that I wasn’t going to enjoy Hungary as much as the countries I had visited so far.

As I continued my journey, I came across more frustrations. Hungary was the first country I had been where there was a passable network of cycleways. But passable was as nice a way to describe them as possible, and car drivers assumed that because cycleways were provided, bikes must be banned from the roads. Any brief forays I tried to make onto roads were met with a barrage of horns and shouted abuse from passing motorists. With my progress stalled by having to follow the inconvenient and slow cycleways, and with my fever worsening, I struggled onwards.

Views of Hungary, with the hotel with the infamous fish dinner in the top-right

Two nights later I made it to a beautiful hill top town, and my mood was lifted by the clean, semi-luxurious hotel I treated myself to, and the tasty fish dinner I had in their restaurant. However, the fish dinner turned out to be one of the worst decisions of my entire trip. A couple of hours later, I was suffering from severe diarrhoea that wouldn’t abate all night. To make matters worse, the hotel was fully booked for the next night, meaning I had to gather all my remaining strength and drag myself the 12km to the nearest motel. The owners were lovely, but must have wondered why I spent two days without leaving my room. It was two of the darkest days of my trip - unable to exert any control over my bowel functions and in constant pain, I lay there feeling sorry for myself and wishing that I was on a plane home.

When I finally emerged, albeit gingerly, there was not far to go to the Austrian border. I made a small detour through Slovakia on the way to increase my country count, and felt more relaxed as I finally found myself in a place where cycling was a normal activity - something those with time and money on their hands would do for enjoyment, rather than a mode of transport only someone without the means to buy a car would use. That was not to say my troubles were over. My first night in Austria was spent being eaten alive by mosquitoes while camping by the Danube. I was lathered in Deet, but still had to put the tent up quickly, throw all my stuff in the porch, move 10m from the tent to lure all the mosquitoes away, then take a run up, dive in and zip the door flap behind me as quickly as possible to deny the insects entry. It was a struggle to get up the next morning with mosquitoes still around, and the next section into Vienna felt very tough. The thought of quitting was still incredibly tempting as I sat on the banks of the Danube in the city centre, and it took all of my resolve to banish them from my head and tell myself to go on just a little further.

Entering Austria. After a terrible first night being eaten my mosquitos, things improved quickly.

Light at the end of the Tunnel

In hindsight, I am so glad I found the will to continue. Austria quickly became a joy. Once I had escaped Vienna and the mosquitoes, the Austrian hills were a delight. It baffled me how every small village and hamlet could be so ridiculously beautiful, so pristinely well-kept. It was challenging riding over steep climbs and descents, but no gradient could dispel the sense of calm and enjoyment I was feeling. Physically I was in much better shape too, as I put in my quickest section of the trip, averaging 37k/h for 10k along the banks of the Danube, drafting two big Austrian road cyclists who were less than impressed and a little embarrassed to find they couldn’t drop the guy on a gravel bike with touring bags on

. I started to even enjoy the camping again, and in no time at all I was approaching the border with Germany in the beautiful city of Passau.

Crossing into Germany in style via the bridge in Passau

Germany quickly became a highlight of the trip. Cycling was really popular here, and I soon took full advantage, passing the first afternoon in the company of a retired road cyclist that I met in a bakery. He still harboured dreams of cycle touring across the Alps, and so was amazed and inspired by my journey. Passing the time chatting, and sheltering from the wind behind him when things got tough, made for an enjoyable day, and also made me feel like I was finally in a place with people who understood what I was doing, and a little of what I was going through. In many ways, that is one of the hardest things about this style of cycle touring. It sounds glamorous to cross the globe by bike. In reality it is anything but. Your day consists of forcing yourself to forget the pain and do one more pedal stroke, aiming for short goals of the next petrol station, the next chocolate bar you can buy, because if you aim for the completion of a 180km day you will just mentally give up. Every hour not on the bike is spent trying to wash clothes, wash yourself, find something to eat, sleep and prepare to do it all again the next day. Going through that pain alone is tough, so whenever you get chance to meet someone who can empathise even to a small degree, it provides so much strength and motivation to continue.

From that point on things got easier and easier. Germany was the best country so far for cycling, the weather was great, and I discovered a love for their chain bakeries, where I could fuel on cheap cakes and coffee. I sped through, easily covering the 160km per day, despite sticking primarily to slower cycleways, and before I knew it the end really was in sight.

Germany may not be known for their cuisine, but regular coffee and cake stops are what every cyclist needs