Bike Tour Kiefersfelden, Germany to Zürich, Switzerland 2021

Susie and I pushed off on our bikes bright and early from Kiefersfelden, around 9 a.m. Within three minutes we were over the border in Austria—her house is practically on the border, it’s not that we were biking really fast. It was sunny, our legs felt fresh, and the bags on our bikes didn’t feel all that heavy, yet. It was just the start of our four day bike touring adventure, after all. The plan was to wind our way south from Kiefersfelden in southern Germany over the border into Austria before turning west to cross Liechtenstein (which doesn't take long, even by bike). Once in Switzerland, we planned to wind our way through the lake country to Zürich where we’d catch a train home. About 400 kilometers in all. We didn’t have any time to spare so we didn’t build in rest days or touristy activities along the way. The trip was set to be Type 2.0 fun all the way and we were stoked.

Day 1

After crossing the border to Austria, Susie and I made good time to Innsbruck, where we stopped for a grocery store smorgasbord of ham, cheese, and bread. With 85 km behind us and another 65 km to go we hopped back on the bike in good spirits. Our elevation slowly started to increase as we made our way to Imst.

We climbed over a mountain pass with cars and trucks whizzing by us. Luckily this was one of the only parts of the ride with no bike lane. After descending into Imst I thought we were done, we were so close to our destination. But in the last 5 km we climbed straight up, sometimes at a 15% grade. We gained 400 meters (with many breaks in between) to our hotel in the mountains. I was huffing and puffing. It was already my longest ride ever, and now it included the most elevation I’d ever climbed as well, 1,296 meters. The effort seemed more worth it when the server at the hotel restaurant treated us with complimentary schnapps (which everyone got, it had nothing to do with us biking up the hill to the hotel).

I took a hot bath to ease my tired muscles but no position seemed comfortable for my legs so I gave up and dried off. We both climbed into bed and promptly passed out.

Day 2

Day 2 was set to be significantly easier than the first. A rest day, if you will. 68 kilometers from our hotel above Imst to a small hut in the mountain town of Stuben. We started off by descending the hill we’d worked so hard to climb the day before. Today, though, it was wet with morning dew and a sketchy route to ride. We didn’t spare a moment's thought for the alpine landscape spread out in front of us; or the charming town of Imst that we sped through on our way to the river at the bottom of the valley.

As we followed the river’s path up into the mountains we stopped and snacked on all manner of fruits from the local orchards. A local Oma (grandma) told me that as long as the branch hangs over the fence onto the road it’s fair game, so we enjoyed the apples, plums, and pluots guilt-free.

With the daring descent completed we breathed a sigh of relief, but Susie wouldn’t let me off too easily, even on a rest day. The route included a climb over the St. Anton am Arlberg pass, aka another 1,279 meters of climbing for the day. Our reward for the climb was another picturesque, speedy, and very chilly descent down to our hut in Stuben.

After a hot shower and thirty minutes curled up in our puffy jackets under the bed sheets we ventured out to one of only a handful of restaurants open in town that night. We stuffed ourselves to the brim and then rolled out and back into bed.

Day 3

The next morning we woke up early. We had a daunting 116 km to travel on our third day of riding, but luckily it was mostly downhill. Unfortunately, the weather was against us. We started by bundling up for a quick sprint down the hill to the nearest town with a bakery where we ate premade sandwiches and drank hot coffee and tea. As we sat there the rain started and we looked out the window nervously. Beginning a 116 km ride with rain was a recipe for wet feet the whole day. We put on every layer of clothing we had and made our way into the cold, wet mountain air. It was only a light dusting for now, so it wasn’t horrible. Before long, though, it became a downpour.

We wound our way down wet gravel paths with water soaking us from above and below. The downhill path was a blessing and a curse. We hardly had to pedal to keep up a good clip, but no peddling meant we weren’t warming ourselves up from the inside. My whole body was wracked with shivers so violent that I was worried I’d wrench the handlebars left or right and end up in the bushes. We got soaked through. And we laughed about it, mostly. Susie very smartly suggested stopping in the next town for another hot drink but I was worried that if we stopped we wouldn’t have the fortitude to get back on the bikes. So we pressed on.

Before we knew it we had pedaled the first 50 km to Feldkirch and we decided it was high time to make a stop for warmth and sustenance. The rain picked up again while we sat inside, still soaking wet from the morning’s wind-chilled descent. We waited for the rain to subside a bit and then ventured back out.

Not long after, Susie—thinking out loud—asked if we might already be in Liechtenstein. I hadn’t even thought about it, because Susie was in charge of mapping. While riding through a residential neighborhood we looked around and saw signs telling us we were in fact already in Liechtenstein: “FL” license plates, LIEmobil bus stop signs, and slightly different infrastructure accents (aka the cobble stones and curbs looked different).

We laughed that we’d almost missed it and talked about how small of a country it is for five minutes and before we knew it we were leaving already. We passed over the Rhine river on a wooden pedestrian bridge and stopped halfway to take pictures at the “border” before continuing on into Switzerland.

We were just over halfway to our destination and feeling strong when the rain and wind picked up again. It didn’t dampen our spirits but it definitely slowed us down. We wound our way around Walensee with whitecaps dotting the lake surface and the shore on the other side obscured by rain. It was definitely no picturesque Swiss getaway.

But we were making the most of it either way. The bike path which was rain-soaked but otherwise pristine snaked its way along the lake, up and down the cliffs until it spat us out in a new valley with an even heavier downpour. We’d been talkative and chatty all day but by this point we wanted to get there so little was said between us. We put our heads down and rode in the pouring rain along a gravel path that followed a canal up river towards Mollis.

When we finally made it to our Airbnb we removed our shoes and socks at the door to avoid making puddles on the floor and headed straight for the bathroom to wash up. We donned the same wet jackets we’d been wearing all day and set out for food, but there were few options. The only grocery store in town closed at 4 pm that Saturday, an hour and a half before we arrived. So we walked 20 minutes in the unceasing rain across the river to the slightly bigger town next door and walked into the only open restaurant, a burger joint.

In unintelligible Swiss-German, the waitress told us that they were full and we could only order to go. We sighed and looked forlornly outside at the sky. She didn’t budge, they were fully booked until closing. We ordered anyway, hoping that we might find a nice, covered, place to eat outside once our food was ready. Twenty minutes later the rain had lessened to merely a heavy mist, so we plopped our paper bag on the rock wall across the street and devoured our burgers and fries before heading home for sleep.

Day 4

The final day of our tour started early. Our train from Zürich back home to Susie’s apartment in Kiefersfelden would leave at 12:43 with or without us. We woke up at 6 and got on the road by 6:45 in order to give ourselves plenty of time to make the 70 km trip at a leisurely pace. I even insisted on building in extra time for emergencies.

6:15 a.m. Rain passing through the light made by a streetlamp outside our bedroom window.

And it’s a damn good thing I did. 45 minutes after leaving Mollis, Susie fell back behind me and looked down. Something was wrong with her bike. She had a flat tire. We groaned but quickly realized it could be a lot worse. It wasn’t raining, we had all the gear we needed to fix this kind of problem, and we had built in plenty of extra time for exactly this scenario. After a quick repair we were back on the road. No problem.

The rain stayed at bay for another few hours as we made our way across the valley and towards Obersee and Zürichsee. We stopped at a BP gas station for a late breakfast and continued on, crossing the lake before riding through the never ending neighborhoods around the lake. We arrived in Zürich with plenty of time to spare. In no rush, we picked up our tickets, grabbed some food and celebratory beer, and headed to our platform.

The train ride followed our bike route almost exactly, in reverse. In four hours we wound around the lakes and mountains that had taken us four days to conquer on our bikes. But we didn’t mind that it was so easy by comparison. It gave me a chance to see all of the sights without sweat running down my face or rain dripping from my knees. And it gave us greater appreciation for what we’d just accomplished.

We rode 400 kilometers and 3,260 meters of elevation on our bikes over four days. When we made it back home I slapped the side of Susie’s building in victory and let out a sigh of relief.

Bikepacking Berlin to Grünheide, Germany 2021

On a whim, I asked Lena if she wanted to go bikepacking over the weekend. I proposed we ride 40 kilometers east of Berlin to a lakeside campground in Brandenburg for one night outside of the city. It would be Lena’s longest day of riding ever, but she didn’t hesitate before saying yes. In the end, the route ballooned to 50 kilometers but we were still happy and confident about the weekend’s planned adventure.

On Saturday, just after 2 p.m., we loaded our gear on our bikes and set off through the glass-covered streets of East Berlin. We made our way south through Neukölln to the canals for the scenic route to Müggelsee. Ever the food opportunist, Lena insisted we stop to munch on some boysenberries discovered along the way.

After our snack we wound our way south of Müggelsee before swinging north through Erkner and finally arriving at the campground at around 7 p.m. The woman at reception guided us past rows of mobile home bungalows surrounded by gardens ranging from disheveled to perfectly cultivated.

After leaning our bikes on a nearby pole, we stripped down and jumped in the clear water of the lake to cool off and get rid of the grime of the trail. Feeling much cooler and cleaner, we donned long sleeves and pants and sprayed bug repellant on our hands and faces before preparing dinner. The mosquitoes were already relentless a couple of hours before sunset. Our European backpacking meals were underwhelming compared to the great options in the U.S., but we still ate our fill. After dinner I settled in to read a bit before bed but it was hard to focus with all of the mosquitoes buzzing about our heads.

We reapplied bug spray and bundled up with our rain jackets to try to keep them away from our faces and settled in, assuming that after dusk the mosquitoes would turn in for the night. In the meantime, I tried using the towel as a makeshift tent to cover our hands and faces but it was so stiflingly hot underneath that we couldn’t breath. At 11 p.m. the mosquitoes were still buzzing about and skewering through our clothes. It was so hot in our sleeping bags and rain jackets that we gave up and stripped naked and ran to the lake. We quickly sat down in the water, leaving only our heads exposed, relying on bug spray to keep our faces safe.

After a few minutes of respite from the heat, the lateness of the hour pushed us back towards our sleeping bags where we tried to fall asleep again.

At 1 a.m. neither of us had slept a wink and I was certain that the mosquitoes weren’t going anywhere that night so Lena and I started spitballing solutions. I floated the idea of giving up on sleeping altogether, packing up, hopping on our bikes, and biking back to Berlin in the dark. Lena considered it but didn’t like the idea of biking so far in the dark. She proposed a taxi but neither of us had phone service or any hope that a taxi would come to the middle of the woods an hour after midnight. I then remembered that on a walk around the campground a few hours before I had noticed a gazebo wrapped in mosquito netting. I proposed that we bring our sleeping bags and pads across the campground and sleep in the safety of the gazebo. Before committing to it Lena and I agreed that I should check and see if the mobile homes surrounding the gazebo were occupied—we didn’t want a rude awakening the next morning when an old German man found us squatting in his outdoor dining room.

After a quick look around I was certain that none of the spaces around were occupied and went back to our camp. Lena and I quickly grabbed the essentials and threw our tarp over the rest of our gear before walking across the camp grounds to our safe haven.

We hurriedly slid our gear under the mosquito netting and slipped in after as quickly as possible in an attempt to keep out the gazillion mosquitos swarming around us.

We breathed a sigh of relief as we lay on our pads without the familiar buzz of mosquitoes dive-bombing our faces. Finally, we could lay in the heat without our sleeping bags closed up as tightly as possible to keep the horde at bay. I pulled my book out to try and wind down before falling asleep. Five minutes later I heard an unfamiliar ding from a nearby cell phone. Lena and I looked at each other.

“Is that yours,” I asked. She shook her head no.

We held our breaths and looked at the darkness surrounding us, waiting for any noises. The phone dinged again. Then we heard voices.

An elderly German couple was talking—at 2 a.m., no less—and we were camped in their gazebo. It seemed that the “empty” mobile home that was 2 meters from Lena’s feet wasn’t so empty after all.

Lena and I looked at each other, horrified. I imagined an angry old man kicking open the door to his trailer and finding us in his mosquito haven. I gulped in fear and tried to push the idea out of my mind. I assured Lena that if they came outside and found us we could calmly explain the situation to them and they would have to understand. Right? I knew it was true deep down, but at 2 a.m. and half crazy from the never ending onslaught of mosquitoes I was having a hard time convincing myself. Lena wasn’t having it. We laid there for another 20 horrified minutes waiting for them to come outside and discover us. Instead, the voices slowly disappeared and were replaced by snoring. I set my alarm for 5 a.m.—just in case we fell asleep—so we could vacate their space before they woke up.

I offered to Lena that I could stay up and talk to anyone who might discover us but she was as stressed as I was and neither of us could imagine sleeping any time soon. Even without the mosquitoes. So we both lay there in the ironic half-safety of the netted gazebo trying to fall asleep. After another 30 minutes the exhaustion finally took its toll and we dozed off here and there. We slept in nightmare-plagued 15-minute spurts, constantly jumping in our sleep imagining that someone was just outside the mosquito netting looking in on us.

Despite the nightmares the night passed uneventfully. When my alarm went off we dragged ourselves out of our sleeping bags and cleared our things out of the gazebo. We hustled away as fast as possible in case we had woken them again while putting their table and chairs back where we found them. We dropped our stuff back on our tarp and, with nothing else to do, stripped down for a morning swim before the rest of camp woke up.

Our mosquito net-engulfed gazebo was both a safe haven and nightmare-fuel.

The sunrise was amazing, but both of us would’ve rather gotten a few more hours of sleep before enjoying it. We swam in small circles in the lake with the purple and pink clouds unfurling above us—swatting at mosquitoes all the while. The second we stepped out of the water they went in for the kill so we jumped back in our sleeping bags for protection, certainly not sleep. We decided that a quick breakfast and a cup of coffee were necessary to fuel our departure back to Berlin. Estimated time of departure? ASAP.

The plan was to bike 10 kilometers, much less than the 50 we biked the day before, to the nearest train station that could take us home: Erkner. The second we were packed up we hit the road without a second glance at our cursed campsite. With the wind in our faces and no mosquitoes buzzing around our ears we suddenly felt infinitely better. We started to laugh about how ridiculous our experience had been.

Before we knew it we were already in Erkner. Despite our rough night it felt too soon to get off the bike for the day so we pushed on past Erkner and through Müggelsee. After 30 kilometers we hopped on the train in Köpenick for a quick ride home. We topped up on lost calories with a quick meal before Lena donned a sleeping mask and napped for a few hours. I made the couch my home and turned on the Olympics in the background while I googled affordable two-person tent options with the hope that I might convince Lena to join me for another bikepacking adventure. If it ever happens again I’m sure you’ll read about it here.