Trier is the oldest city in Germany dating back to the Roman Empire in 16 CE. It is in the Rheinland-Pfalz and sits near the border with Luxembourg in the Mosel valley. This constitutes quite a change from the plan which I laid out in a previous entry. I had planned on a somewhat flat and consistent ride through the Rhine river valley all the way to Amsterdam. But that was such a good plan, such a clear and relatively easy route that I naturally chose to scrap it and try something else. So tomorrow I head out of Germany. It's exciting. I'll ride down the Mosel into Luxembourg. The trip down the Main river was great. It's a very peaceful river with lots of camping and recreational sites along it. At two places I chose to leave the river and ride over land in order to cut several kilometers off of the trip. But that meant riding up and down numerous steep hills. I did finally shift into the granny gear on one particularly steep slope. The landscape was beautiful. Rolling hills full of wheat, flowers, and small stands of forests. On the morning that I left Würzburg it was raining and a pretty cold rain too. Eventually the rain died off but left all of the trails that were not asphalt muddy, slick, and slow. I was really pushing myself because I reasoned that if I could make lots of miles in the three days to Frankfurt then I could take it easy the rest of the way. But I found myself somewhere in the countryside between Würzburg and Wertheim, off my map and blinking at a constantly threatening sky. The map was just of the river trail so whenever I took off into the countryside I was without a map to reference. Of course I had the ever-reliable source of information in the local population. Problem was I was really out there. Mostly there were no people. I was followingthe signs pretty well but eventually on every remote trail there is a sign breakdown inevitability. It's the nature of being way out there I guess. I came to a crossroads that was unsigned and I was tired, wet, and worried that this short cut had in fact not saved me any time. It just seemed to have made me more tired by going up and down for 20 miles instead of along the lazy river for a longer stretch. I looked at the crossroads and took my normal inventory when I am in situations like this. Look at the landscape for markers, check the map, and see what I already know- I'm not on the map. Look around for other cyclists coming my way. There were none. Look for locals - also none. Curse softly. Check the ground for bike tracks leading down one path instead of any of the others. Then as always I choose a path and go for it. This day I ended up down this muddy track that got progressively worse and worse until my tires were slicked over with mud and steering was turning from troublesome to dangerous. I went to my trick that I learned to do weeks ago when the road turned into sand. I unclipped my shoes so that at least if I fell I could catch myself quickly. It began to rain harder, I stopped on a little wood bridge that was clear of mud and breathed heavily. The trees provided pitifully scant protection from the rain and I looked ahead and behind at what appeared to be two identical tracks of mud getting steadily more muddy. I cursed repeatedly at the bad signs, at myself for leaving the river trail, at other things too probably. The consistent reality of rule #1: There is nothing else to do but dig in and go forward. So I rode near the edge of the path where the ground was somewhat more substantial. About two hundred yards ahead I climbed a steep but short approach to a paved road that I could not see before. Logic kicks in saying well it must go somewhere. I checked my compass and headed generally SW. I knew however that I was off of my intended path. However bad the signs had been they always picked back up if I could manage to stay on the path. But here I felt pretty sure I was off of the path. Rule #1 often is applicable so I dug in and went forward with mud spewing from my tries and smacking the fenders. I was presented with steepest hill I had seen yet and halfway up I switched into the smallest front gear and was determined not to stop. At the top I breathed so hard that my throat and lungs burned. I stopped pedaling and let the bike coast for a while. Around a bend I saw the natural equilibrium of landscape contours- there was a precipitous descent into more wheat fields and forests. Still breathing hard I let go and coasted without breaks down the hill at 35 mph and was happy to feel the exhiliration of speed. My road came to a T intersection and I stopped to check the map. I knewthe town I wanted to come to was called Wüstenzell but I was pretty sure that I had by now gone too far north. I looked at the map for other possible towns but I feared that I was only moving further into the countryside. At the intersection I looked both ways. Right was uphill, left was down. Some decisions are easy. Then after turning left and coasting a ways I concocted a rationale: If I went downhill and was right then all was good. If I went uphill and was wrong then I'd have gone uphill for no reason. If I went downhill and was wrong then I was no worse off than before. hmmmm...? Anyway down and left was right. hee hee The road was very good, obviously new and it got wider indicating that I was approaching a town. I didn't know where I was but hoped for any town with a sign that could point me to Wüstenzell. I entered the town on a wicked descent that led into the town and a deep valley. I looked across the valley and saw what appeared to be the only road leading out. It was so long and so steep that I think that my jaw literally dropped and I stopped breathing for a minute. Then I saw the town's name and was totally confounded. I was approaching Wüstenzell. What the f...? I stuttered repeatedly what...I mean..how...? wha...? I was elated. Wüstenzell meant many things. I was back on the map. I hadn't wasted my time but somehow it all worked as I had hoped. But there was still that preposterously steep road leading out of the town that truly I didn't know if I could climb it. I took a picture of it and the photo doesn't come close to displaying the ridiculousness of that incline. I looked at the map and was presented with good news. I had reached Wüstenzeel from the north and notfrom the east as I had intended. That meant that the steep road was not mine but rather led to the Autobahn. Good. I turned down my road and refound the Main river trail just about on schedule. But it was only about 27 miles into 80 mile day and was feeling pretty tired. That night rolling into Aschaftenburg I was in that post-exertion phase of euphoria and tunnel-vision. I was exhausted. I came upon a festival on the outskirts of the town. People were spilling out of the party and cowding the bike path. I dinged my bell. The first few moved and then the rest just blocked the way. Drinking their damn beer, eating brats and hamburgers. I hated them. I dinged my bell repeatedly but they were talking and not paying attention. I cranked into high gear and blew by them through the grass looking over my shoulder with disdain. Tunnel vision- it's a crazy feeling. I came to narrow passage way and just blew through it not bothering to slow down. I came into town and didn't blink at the climb up to the bridge over the river. I feel in those moments like I could go forever and do anything. It's an amazing euphoria and powerful feeling. But it also is clearly an ironic and foolish state of mind. It's reckless and stems as much from fitness as from exhaustion. It's addictive and dangerous I think. Later, like being in a rage or in ecstasy I think back and everything seemed not to turn on skill or good decision-making but on chance. It's a little scary. I guess it's also about deactivating inhibitions. But they are the inhibitions that keep me from being reckless most of the time. But then it's a slanted scale- my mind is cluttered with what could go wrong all of the time that when the careful filter is off I am probably far less reckless than I think. Oh well. That's enough for now. I need pizza and to clean my drive train- the chain's pretty chunky and gritty. Luxembourg, Germany, Belgium, and the Netherlands are all so connected that I don't know if I'll get stamps on my passport or not. I hope so.