Hamburg-Berlin-Köln-Hamburg 1500

[Salvatore]

This ride took place in August 2006.

Großhansdorf (0 km) to Ditfurt (460 km)
Großhansdorf, near Hamburg. Saturday 5:00 a.m. The Bürgermeister dropped the flag, the tape was pulled clear, and we were off. To a raucous chorus of cheers and football rattles from the small but enthusiastic crowd, the 29 riders of 8 nationalities eased past the front of the Rathaus and out into the pre-dawn darkness. This was the first of 1527 kilometers which would take them south-east to Berlin, then south-west to Cologne, then in a northerly direction back to Hamburg.

The previous evening, the 5 AUK members present had been somewhat gosmacked to be awarded a cup for the club with the largest representation, along with individual trophies. A cup was also given to the rider who had travelled furthest to the start. This went to Domenico Aurisicchio, from Naples, who just pipped Michael Kamenikov (“Misha”) from St. Petersburg.

I had got a lift to the start with Jackie Popland, and we'd come via the tunnel, while Julian Dyson had flown from Manchester. Also there were Jack Williams and his wife Sabine, who would be driving round the course providing assistance and encouragement. The final AUK member to arrive had been  Trevor Woodmore, who had driven all the way in one day after his flight from Heathrow had been cancelled due to the security chaos the previous day.

We had been greeted by Heino Harms, the organiser, his wife Britta and other members of the Audax Club Schleswig-Hostein, and after a pasta meal, a group photo, the trophy presentations, final instructions from Heino, and a few words with the local press,  I had spent a comfortable but restless night in a room in the basement of the Rathaus, rising at 3:15 to get as much breakfast down as I could swallow.

But now we were underway. For the first 10 km or so, we were led through the dark lanes by a  car driven by  Heino. Although the pace was a bit sharp for my liking, I managed to keep the lead group in sight until the car swung away, but then they soon disappeared, never to be seen again. There was a helper stationed at Schwarzenbek (30km) to direct us through a tricky bit of navigation, and by now daylight had come and the the field was beginning to spread out.

 The route was gently rolling, and I was riding alone as I reached the old east-west border between Lauenburg and Boizenburg. The most significant difference as far we were concerned was the cobbled streets in the centres of most of the towns in the east. These blocks of stone were more Ahrenburg than Alston.

 On the cobbles of Boizenburg (61 km) I was joined by LEL veteran Gerard from Gouda and another Dutch rider, and we soon caught Julian Dyson, and we rode together for a several kilometres. The pace was high, for me at least, averaging over 27 kph. Much of the route was on roads which were closed to all motor vehicles except agricultural vehicles. They had excellent surfaces and were virtually empty. There was also a lengthy stretch on the path on the banks of the Elbe. The path on the top if the dyke was loose gravel, and not suitable for slick 23s, but lower down was a smooth tarmac track.

At Wittenberge (157km) came the first control. I arrived here at 11:00 with the sole Finnish participant, Jukka Salonen, and we got stamps at a supermarket at the edge of town. I think it's the first time I've ever arrived at the first control of a ride with seven hours in hand, but I suspected I would need all the time cushion I could build up. I didn't fancy leaving my bike outside while I bought food, so I carried on into town so I pressed on in the hope of finding a small supermarket or café.

There was nothing in the town, so I put my faith in finding something in the following villages. But nothing was open, it being a German Saturday afternoon. In the end I plumped for a village inn  which was advertising warm food, and ordered fish fingers and chips, on the grounds it wouldn't take long to prepare. I took a seat at a table outside. At an adjoining table were a couple who together with their cat and dog were making a leisurely cycling tour of the area (he bore a remarkable resemblance to Mike Sadler), and when they saw my frame plate, they quizzed me on all aspects of the ride. While I chatted and enjoyed my food, several riders passed, and by the time I got underway again I was near the back of the field.

I was soon joined by Jack Williams, and we rode together to the 2nd control at Nauen (270 km) where Heino and Sabine were waiting with sandwiches and drinks. This was the 'Berlin' control (about 25km from Spandau) and completed the first leg.

We soon started off again, and observed the orientation of the wind turbines – against us. They were everywhere, and we speculated that in a really strong wind, Nauen was in danger of taking off.

 We had been warned about the tramlines and cobbles in Brandenburg town centre, and these proved unridable, so we took to a smooth track on the pavement/cyclepath. At one point we found ourselves with eating establishments on our right and tables on our left, and if it hadn't been for the lightning-fast reflexes of the waitress as she emerged from a café on the right, Jack would have got a lap full of steaming Wienerschnitzel.

Darkness soon fell, and I was dismayed to find that my Solidlight was dead. Luckily I had a LED get-you-home job in my saddlebag, so I strapped that to my handlebars and carried on.  During our conversations we established that in the late 1970s, while Jack had been in HM Forces patrolling the Iron Curtain , defending the West from evils of the Soviet empire, I had been enjoying the carefree life of a student at the Karl Marx University in Leipzig, on the other side of the barbed wire and watchtowers.

Sabine was waiting for us at the motorway services at Schropsdorf (340 km), and swung into action as soon as we arrived. She asked if I was intending to eat anything, I mumbled something to the effect that I probably would (fancying only a light snack), and by the time I had seen to stamping formalities, used the cash machine, and bought batteries, there was a massive plate of Schweineschnitzel and chips waiting for me. I'm afraid I couldn't do it justice. Here Jack and I parted company. He wanted to press on, and my lack of miles (only 550 km in the previous 5 weeks) and the fast start were beginning to take a toll on my legs, so I would take it easy. I didn't really have a choice.

I set off at about 9:30 pm on the next 115 km leg to the first Hauptkontrolle (manned control with sleeping facilities and food). It seemed to go on for ever. Luckily the sky was clear, and the bright moon meant I wasn't too hampered by my lack of a decent front light. On the rare occasions that there was an oncoming car, a quick flick onto 'flash' (or more accurately 'flicker') mode  saw them dipping their headlights.

Just after Schönebek, as I reached the summit of a small climb, I was treated to a view of countless red lights flashing on and off all round the horizon. At first I couldn't work out what these were, then it twigged – they were the warning lights on top of wind turbines. They were everywhere.

I slept 3 times on this leg at the side of the road, but eventually limped into the control (460 km) in the local museum at Ditfurt at about 5 am. It's always difficult to arrive, sleep-deprived, at a control to be bombarded with questions, so I already had my answers ready: 'essen, duschen, schlafen, essen, weg' (eat, shower, sleep, eat and off).

That was a long day 1.

Ditfurt (460 km) to Messinghausen (737km)

I had asked for a 9 o'clock wake-up call, but was wide awake on a sleeping mat amongst the exhibits at 8:00 and away at 9:00, just as it was beginning to rain. After about 10 km I hit the first real climb of the ride, as our route took us into the Harz mountains. As I was settling into a rhythm, a car pulled up alongside, and I saw a camera being pointed at me through the passenger window. It was Heino, the organiser. He stopped his car a bit further on to take another photo, and as I passed I remarked on the refreshing change after the previous day's flatlands. He pointed out to me that I wouldn't see the last of the hills until the day after tomorrow. (As things turned out it would be the early hours of the day after that.)

At the small village of Allrode I stopped briefly to ring my brother, and the 3 Italians rode past. Their intention was to spend each night in a hotel, and spend very little time at controls.

By the time I got to Hasselfelde, I was feeling a little peckish, and stopped for a fast-food pizza, to celebrate 50 km for the day. It was now midday, and with the next Hauptcontrolle another 227 km away, it was going to be another long day.

The route continued up and down, and at one point I passed Dutch riders Robert Lammerts and Cor van Leeuven, who had stopped at the side of the road. They and the 3 Italians would be the only other riders I saw on the road in the 400km stretch between Schropsdorf and Messinghausen.

Eventually the sun came out and there were a few kilometres of flat before I reached the Shell petrol station at Lütgenrode (607 km). Apart from the normal petrol station control procedures, here I helped a motorist by working his brake pedal while he poked about to find out what was wrong with them.

After this came a lovely stretch up a quiet wooded valley in the evening sunlight. Before Offensen there was notice of a road closure. For once I took the signposted diversion, which led me through the town and I easily found my way back on route. This was the right decision. I later heard tales of people confronted with enormous earth banks, and decisions as to whether to scramble up them or go back and find an alternative.

After dark there were some seriously big climbs –  Galgenberg (Gallows Hill), and Klingenberg had been mentioned on the route description, but there were innumerable nameless ones. Again there was a clear sky and a bright moon, but after Warburg the route took me along a bike path along the side of a river under overhanging trees, and I had to slow right down to see where I was going.

The combination of a bright moon, deep shadows and a sleep-deprived mind can have some interesting effects. At one point I saw someone standing on the pavement some distance ahead of me, dressed in a smart white suit with a giant grinning wolf's head. Tired I may have been, but I reckoned I could still tell the difference between a genuine white-suited giant-headed wolf and an imagined white-suited giant-headed wolf, and I knew this wasn't the real thing. But the vision persisted, and only when I rode past the spot did it reveal itself to be some ivy on a whitewashed wall combined with the spidery shadows of some overhanging branches. That night I also saw peasants staring at me from the moonlit fields and monsters at the roadside, but  recognised them for the illusions they were. But not the scowling elephant on the high open moorland after Hofgeismar.  That was real.

I was now getting very drowsy, and had to stop to sleep again only 13 km from the control. It was also getting cold – according to a neon readout at a pharmacy in one town, it was down to 8 degrees, although the locals later insisted it was colder – 6 degrees. By the time I reached the Hauptkontrolle and bagdrop in the shooting club at Messinghausen, I had been on the road for most of the night. But once again we were treated like royalty, with sleeping mats and blankets, warm food, showers and lots of encouragement.

[Salvatore]

Messinghausen (737km) to Rösrath(936 km)

The ride to the next Hauptkontrolle was just short of 200 km, so with clean jersey and shorts, I set out at about 8 am and  decided to ride it like any other 200, and treat myself to a stop every 50 km. The road started climbing immediately and I rode for a time with Trevor, and then with Misha and the Belgian contingent, Jan Geerts and Robert Luyckx, before they dropped me.

At Bad Fredeburg, a break was due, so I stopped at a cafe where Jan and Robert were already tucking into cake. Here I made my daily report to the brother. He asked me how far I had was into the ride, but I really had no idea. As far as I was concerned, I had ridden 50km from Messinghausen, and had another 149km before I reached Rösrath. Anything beyond that could wait till tomorrow. 

The ups and downs continued, as they would all day, and I was feeling tired. At one point, near Hichenbach, I lay down at the side of the road for 40 winks, only to be woken by a concerned motorcyclist: “Alles in Ordnung?”. I continued on my way, and the Italians came up behind me. I chatted with Alessanndra for a while. Her English was nearly as sparse as my Italian, but we could agree on one thing without misunderstanding: it was “duro”.

At the petrol station control at Kreuztal (743 km) I met up with Trevor and Misha again. Misha borrowed my mobile to send an SMS as he couldn't get a signal – the following day I had a reply: “Misha, where are you?”.

I thought I'd missed a turning after Kreuztal, and followed signs for Freudenberg, but it turned out I'd been on course all along. The routesheet really was as good as it gets – I did all 1527 km without going off course once. I didn't carry (and didn't need) a map, and hadn't plotted the route beforehand.

After Freudenberg the rain began, and didn't let up for about 24 hours . At Morsbach I stopped at an Aral petrol station for a snack. By now a preference for different petrol stations had been established – Esso and Shell were preferred to Star, but Aral were best of all, with their 'Petit Bistro' snack bars and coffee machines.

Soon after that, just as it was getting dark, I felt my rear tyre was flat, so I went back 50 m to a crossroads to get the benefit of a street lamp. While I was fixing it, 2 Good Samaritans stopped their cars to offer assistance, and 3 cyclists passed the other way. I didn't recognise them at first in their raingear, but it was the Italians looking for a hotel. It was the last time I would see them. The following morning they called it a day and caught the train back to Hamburg.

 As night fell I was getting more and more tired. By the time I reached Much and then Overath, I was beyond exhaustion, my puny LED light was inadequate in the rain in the dark twisty wooded descents, and it was raining. Hard. Roadside sleeps were out of the question. This was something of a low point. With 150 km since Messinghausen and another 50 to go to the next manned control and guaranteed contact, little prospect of seeing another rider on the road, no scenery to admire in the sodden blackness, legs which refused to cooperate, and prolonged and repeated yawning fits, things could have been better, but there was nothing to do but keep plugging away. Each route instruction crossed off was a minor victory, and I knew that the next control was an important psychological  and literal turning point. Never mind that there would still be over nearly 600 km left, I would be on the home leg to Hamburg, so I struggled on as best I could.

 Eventually at about 3 am I reached Rösrath, which was as near as we would get to Cologne. You can see the two spires of Cologne Cathedral on a clear day (but not on a wet night), so that's close enough for me. The control was at Schloss Eulenbroich (936 km). I found Trevor looking lost at the entrance to the park, unable to find the Schloss itself. By chance I spotted one of the event's arrows on a lamppost, and within a minute we were at the control. I wolfed down a big bowl of ravioli, and found some floorspace – kip mats and blankets were provided. The sleeping conditions were cramped, but I slept like a log.

Rösrath(936 km) to Messingausen (1116 km)

After 2 or 3 hours sleep I was up again, and it was still raining. Soon others were up and stuffing as much bread rolls and coffee as they could. Many looked as if they were waiting for the rain to stop  - I gave it 5 minutes then left anyway at 5:30. It was still dark, and the leg started with a 32 km climb. I found it difficult to find a rhythm, and was soon passed by 3 of the Dutch riders, and the Finn. Then the 2 Belgians and the Russian came past. The roads were busier than previously, and at about 8 am I stopped for a coffee, during which Trevor came past. It's not too bad if everyone else is suffering, but they seemed to be suffering less than I was.

I caught up with the Belgian/ Russian combo when they stopped near the Biggesee, and rode with them for a while. Here there was a little respite from climbing as we followed the shores of the lake, but after the 9th control, an Aral petrol station at Finnentrop (1025 km) the road started going upwards again.

 I am a firm believer that if you are going through a rough patch, it's best to keep going. After all the only thing which can follow a bad patch is a good patch. But this bad patch had been going for about 600 km, and the belief was wearing a little thin. But then with about 50 km to go to our second visit to Messinghausen, everything turned round. The sun came out, the wind was behind me, my achilles had stopped twinging, my shoulders weren't sore any more, and the only noise coming from the bike was a plea from the chain for lubrication. It was as if, after a momentous battle between mind and matter, my body had at last conceded defeat and agreed to co-operate without complaining. To top it all, after the grey drizzle of the morning, the black-and-white villages of the Sauerland were at their picture-postcard best in the late afternoon sunshine, with a backdrop of green fields, wooded hills and blue skies.

I was now following the same route back to Messinghausen as on the outward leg, and I couldn't remember if there were 2 or 3 big climbs to come. But I didn't care – I was enjoying myself. Eventually what had been a long climb out of Messinghausen the previous morning was now a long wind-assisted descent. The icing on the cake was Cordula the controller, who performed a one-woman cheerleading act, with cheers, whoops, and a football rattle as I climbed the twisty 1-in-5 to the control (1116 km). The field, now reduced to 22, was now so spread out that the arrival of a rider was a big occasion.

For the first time I had arrived at a Hauptkontrolle during daylight. There followed a debate with Trevor and Jan as to what tactics to use. Misha decided to use what daylight remained, and set off straight away, but the rest of preferred some sleep before continuing. How much time should we leave for the last 400km, considering we already had over 1100 km in our legs? I lay down to sleep at 8pm with instructions to be woken at 2am. After sleeping solidly until midnight, I dozed until 2 am. Trevor was up before me, the Belgians had decided on more sleep.

Messingausen (1116 km) to Lindern (1312 km)

Declining the offer of scrambled egg for breakfast, I stuffed my face with filled rolls and rye bread, washed down with lashings of apple juice and coffee, and set off at about 3:30. There were a couple of climbs to get out of the valley, then a long long descent, and at last I was in the flatlands after 3 hard days and nights. There was plenty of mist about, but eventually the sun rose, and I stopped to sit on a bench and eat some cake. Across the road a man came to his front door to pick up his daily paper. He was dressed only in vest and underpants, but when he saw me he just stood and stared. I wasn't sure of the etiquette in such situations. Eventually he disappeared indoors for a fag and a cuppa (I assume).

At Stukenbrock I stopped for a coffee and to report my latest progress to my brother (apparently I sounded 'chipper'), but after that the roads got busier, my legs became very tired, and at one point I got mixed up in a time trial. I think it must have been the police championships, as there were lots of police cars about, and people were changing in police vans. I made enquiries to a bystander who told me the distance was 23 km. 23 km? Hardly worth getting changed for, surely. A slow puncture slowed me further, the route got lumpier, and I was getting tired.

That morning I was glad to have seen the last of the big hills, but there was still a long 300km slog in front of me. Had I counted my unhatched chickens? Had I dared to look too far ahead?  At one point it all got too much for me and I stretched out on the grass verge for 20 minutes.

It seemed a long way after the Shell garage control at Bad Sulzuflen (1225 km) that I left the more heavily populated area and crossed  two small ranges of hills to hit flatter more rural roads, and I still found it difficult to find a rhythm.

When at last I reached the Hauptkontrolle at the fire station in Lindern (1312 km), I  woke the controllers who were flat out on the grass outside. Inside Trevor was trying to sleep. Somewhere on the route he had lost his pump and was waiting for me. As it happened, to avoid a repeat of the shenanigans of the New Forest 1000, when my pump had failed, I was carrying a spare pump, and it ended up in his saddlebag for the rest of the ride.

I tried in vain to sleep on the grass, so went inside for some food. As I ate, there was thunder and lightning, and the wind in the trees was turning the leaves inside out.

Lindern (1312 km) to Großhansdorf (1527 km)

Trevor and I set off together into the stormy evening for the last 215 km leg, mentally prepared for a wet and windy night's riding, but the weather gods were only teasing - it calmed down as soon as it had started and after the Aral control at Verden (1346 km) we enjoyed a calm night under the bright moon, although there were some distinctly chilly spots in the mist and fog.

By the early hours we were finding it impossible to fight off sleep, and found a bus shelter where we stretched out on the bench for 45 minutes, then feasted on Trevor's biscuits. This was no ordinary bus shelter – it had a bike rack at the side. Some of the roads we were riding were very long and straight – a car passed us at one point and we watched for ever as its red lights receded up the road.

Eventually we reached the 14th and final control at Winsen (1470 km), another Aral petrol station, and had the usual snack on the kerb outside, and then set off again to enjoy a magical sunrise as we rode across the floodplain of  the Elbe south of Hamburg. But again we were very sleepy, and we found a bench on the top of the dyke for another half-hour's shut-eye, only woken by the alarm on Trevor's GPS.

 On the road again, we were counting down the kilometres to Großhansdorf. I quietly allowed myself a minor celebration when I realised we were close enough to the end with enough time in hand that even with a catastrophic mechanical failure, we'd be able to walk to the finish with time in hand. With about 10km to go, we were passed by a car with Dutch plates. The passenger banged on the roof of the car, and gave us thumbs up and shouted congratulations as they passed. They were riders who had finished the previous day. There's something special about such congratulations from other riders – only they can really appreciate what we'd been through.

Then on the outskirts of Großhansdorf, resisting the temptations of the Aral station, we turned right into Papenwisch, and a car passed us with Cordula returning from Messinghausen, and she leant out and shouted encouragement to us. Then with 200m to go my phone started ringing – it was the brother wanting to know if I had finished.

We turned left past the Rathaus and I glanced in through the windows to see what was going on in the hall, but all I could see was a table set with food, and no people. Not a soul. But through the windows on the other side I could see a small crowd lined up to greet us. I don't like a fuss but this was unavoidable.

124 hours and 13 minutes after setting off, we turned into the courtyard and a  cheer rose from the small crowd of assembled riders and helpers. There was much backslapping, embracing and handshaking, before everyone went inside for a communal breakfast, during which we relived the highs and lows, and found out what had happened to the others:

Jack and Julian had finished the previous evening.

4 German riders had finished in just over 90 hours, including taking refuge in a hotel for 6 hours on the last night to escape the storm.

Jackie Popland arrived for the first time at Messinghausen on the time limit, having ridden most of the way on her own, and judged she couldn't get round the Rösrath loop in time, so rode the 400 km straight to the finish, riding over 1100km altogether.

The Italians: Alessandra's partner was unwell, so they both packed, and the other Italian, who spoke no German or English, packed as well, and they got the train back to Hamburg.

 Astrid Muth rode 300km to the start, but started 5 hours late, and eventually packed with knee  trouble and saddlesores.

Finally...

This was just about the hardest ride I've ever done, with the lowest of lows and the highest of highs. Only the legendary 1989 LEL comes close. (Coincidentally it had the same number of starters – 29 – as the 1989 LEL, and both rides had J Spooner as entry number 13). Both rides involved, for me at least, a lot of solo riding. HBKH was longer and hillier, but had a more relaxed 12kph minimum speed. 

Heino, the organiser, had expected a larger entry, but was pleased with the numbers of foreign riders (at 16, more than half the field).

The next edition will be in August 2010, possibly with a 1200 km option, presumably missing out the Messinghausen - Rösrath loop. The ride really does deserve a bigger field, so put it in your diaries. You won't be disappointed.

Finally, a word about the helpers on this ride. They were simply fantastic. I can do no better than quote  Jack Williams, who wrote soon after the event:

The route, instructions, organisation, controls, food & facilities were the best I've ever experienced for a 'long' event. But above all the friendliness & sheer enthusiasm of the many helpers was inspiring. By the end I really felt as though every single one of them had become my best friend & was doing everything possible to get me round. I had no alternative, I had to finish. I didn't want to let them down.