Woffelbach to Heimbach

Route: Woffelbach to Heimbach via Schmidt
Distance: about 15 km

Ok, so you all can make fun if you want! I only made it 15 km today, yay! But, you guys should see this place. Steep hills covered with a green carpet of firs, bursting with bike trails, castles, Roman ruins, and really cool little towns every few km. I am in the Eifel Naturpark in Western Germany, so I never touched a highway today on my router here. Instead, I rode mountain bike trails all the way!
The only time I touched pavement was the lung pounding set of switchbacks I rode, up what was easily a 10% grade, to arrive at the village of Schmidt. This little eagles nest of a town is perched on the heights overlooking the Ruhrsee, a man-made lake that formed by the Ruhr River Dam. I camped on the lake last night, and today I was cycling its perimeter.
The reason why Schmidt was this important for me to see was that it was at the center of the Battle of Hurtgen Forest, which was the woods I was now riding through. While climbing the road into the uncut wilderness, it’s easy to see that having to fight here would have been a brutally horrific experience.
When Grandpa’s unit came here to rest and take on replacements after the Bulge, he was have been able to see the flashes of artillery and here the cracking of small arms echoing from the steep hills above his camp. For him and his men, the war was never far, even during a rest period.
Today for me, however, the war was the farthest thing from mind as I pedaled uphill out of Woffelbach. I was anxious to leave the sketchy “campground” that was really just a trailer park filled with goth kids and wasted looking dudes in their 40’s. Sometimes, I sleep with my bike inside the tent due to the rain, or neighborhood. In this case it was to present the endless parade of drunks walking through my site with slightly less of a target. One small problem that spoiled my quick getaway plans this morning, however, was that I discovered two broken spokes on my new rear wheel while pulling the bike inside the tent.
Fortunately, the Surly Long Haul Trucker comes with 2 replacement spokes cleverly attached to the rear wheel stays. It’s as if the designers at Surly are saying, “We know the wheels we spec’d on this bike are crap, so we’re going to attach the parts to build new ones on the bike for you!” Needless to say, I will be purchasing a quality set of wheels when I return to New York.
So, instead of leaving first thing this morning, I got to rebuild my wheel. Now, replacing a spoke isn’t the most difficult thing to do on a bike, but it does require you to tear down the rear wheel somewhat. This means, removing the tire and tube, the rim strip, and the rear cassette to allow for enough clearance to install the new spoke.
Whoever told me (Phil) that I didn’t need to bring cone wrenches, a hub tool and chain whip with me is going to get a strongly worded email whenever I can find another McDonalds! Just kidding dude, you rock. Point being, I have none of the proper tools to service my wheels, so I had to get creative with the spokes and it took a while.
The church bells rang 9am before I had my bike reassembled and ready to go. I should also point out that I noticed the bearings are already worn, and will need servicing very soon. I need to find a bike shop again! Thank you Shimano, I’m buying Phil hubs.
After monkeying around with maps, and two or three false starts, I found the right road out of town as the church bell toned 10. This is way too late to make real distance. Soon, the nice paved road I was riding turned into a rocky hiking trail, which was obviously going to follow the edge of the entire lake. The going was beautiful, but slow, and again not good for making distance.
When I realized that I wasn’t getting very far today, I finally adjusted my sight to the scenery. The virgin forest closed in around the trail. Huge stands of old growth timber stood up the steep hillside to my left, smaller scrub pine to my right running all the way to the waters edge. This was easily the most backcountry area I had yet found in Europe, and I rode my full packs and tenuous bearings down single-track, mountain biking my way around the lake.
Soon, I came to a quick uphill which was obviously joining a road grade coming down the hill from my left. With all of my muscle, I pulled the pedals and road the bike up out of the trees and into a paved parking lot with a signpost that read Schmidt in it. More uphill, but one of my major trip goals lay at the top.
On the top, in a field of well manicured grass, I sat on a bench and ate breakfast consisting of a pear while watching a grey cat that I had kicked out from over the bench, orbit me waiting for its home back.
Soon an old woman whom I had passed on the rail above came walking over to me and said hi.
“Nein Schprekin Duetsch”, I replied. “English?”
“Oh, nein.” She said, “Habla Espaniol?”
“Nein”
“Espaniol…” then started speaking German, but the gist of it was that I should at least learn Spanish because it’s one of the most international languages of the world.
I decide right then and there that my kids, if and when any arrive, will grow up speaking two languages. Maybe I could learn with them. If I didn’t, they would probably just make of me to my face in Spanish or German while they were growing up.
Not being bilingual, however, is one of the great regrets I have. This entire trip experience would have been so much richer if I knew French or German; thank you Central High School for tempting me with a live on TV Japanese course complete with a hot Japanese woman leading the class.
On the way back down the road, the dug-in defenses and earthworks were plainly evident. At every switchback on this narrow draw up the hill, a ditch was dug across. I imagined machine gun and mortar emplacements across the entire width. This combined with mines and barbed wire obstacles and supported with artillery, would have covered the very small and steep draw in a murderous field of fire. Attempting a ground assault up the hill would have been nothing short of suicide. That’s what the battle of Hurtgen Forest was like. By the time they got to Schmidt, four months of fighting, bombing and artillery had wiped the town off the face of the earth. The village today is brand new.
Soon, I rejoined the little rocky bike path through the woods. Luckily, it was all downhill through the woods. Coming around a corner, I head an ominous “twang” come from my back wheel. I knew instantly that I had just popped another spoke. Upon inspection, I found the two that I had just replaced this morning intact. Need a bike shop.
The rocks on the trail soon became sand. The sand became pavement. Then the pavement became filled with tourists taking pictures, and lazily blocking the bike path. I knew I was getting close to civilization. A quick hop across the highway, and down the backside of the huge earthen dam, and I was spinning along at the base of a steep canyon. The sun barely touches this little part of the world due to the steep hills on either side. The path was slick, and the air was cold.
While riding along the little river at the base of the canyon, I rounded a corner and saw a red stone fortress growing out of a rock outcropping above me. By the straight up and down round tower filled with arrow slits surrounded by the high palisades, I could tell that this castle was the real thing, probably dating from around 1000 a.d. Once I circled the base of the structure, I could tell that the keep and tower were strategically located to command the approaches of three similar gorges which converge at this point.
What were once peasant’s fields, and no doubt, battlegrounds, were now filled with children playing on swing sets and riding bikes next to the river while parents strolled in the sunlight. As I took in this scene, I realized that I was in Germany without a map, I had no cash, I was hungry, and my bike was breaking. Maybe it was time to stop, stay at this town, and plan my German strategy.
The town surrounding this castle was a perfect study in medieval mazes. Old wood frame and stucco houses, beer gardens, and shops arrayed on streets which radiated like the points of a star from the battlements above. I swung around the corner below the castle, and found street cafes filled with motorcyclists out from Aachen for a Sunday beer. Turning right and heading uphill, I fell in behind a young couple on bikes. They were slow, but passing was not an option due to the constant stream of motorcycles and sports cars screaming by. It was evident that we three cyclists were all heading to the castle.
We soon approached a very steep cobblestone pathway leading directly up to the portcullis, which was intact and was flanked by two round defensive towers. The girl in front of me hesitated, and stopped at the bottom while her boyfriend continued up the path. Instantly reverting to a 12 year old, I low geared past the stalled girl who was still straddling her bike and trying to get her boyfriends attention, and pro-rolled the whole grade up through the gates, through the outer keep, and into the castle itself!
What stopped me were two things: 1. I was being ridiculous. 2. I had just actually pedaled into an outdoor café filled people enjoying their lunch who all stopped and stared at the lost biker in their midst. Turning around as quickly as I could, and actually saying “I’m sorry” in English, I rode back down through the keep and out of the front gate while the blond couple with bikes smiled at me. I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. At least I didn’t fall.
But, who knew that the castle was a restaurant? I guess there are so many of these things kicking around this part of Germany that I won’t be surprised if the next one I come across is a transmission repair shop or something.
What finally put the nail into the distance coffin today was stopping for the first hot meal I’ve had since Holland. Lunch at a sit down actual café, with real food, and real waitresses, what a treat! Not knowing what to order, I first got a beer (mistake) and next asked the cute English speaking waitress what I should order.
Two beers and some sort of bacon and cheese covered pancake later, it finally became apparent that I wasn’t going anywhere today. This wasn’t out of any lack of trying. After eating, I got on my bike and climbed off along a road leading out of town thinking that I would give it a try at least. I ended up on a very busy and narrow mountain highway, headed the wrong direction.
Descending back into town, and passing the café where I had just eaten again, the waitress smiled when she saw struggling. She came over and helped me with directions to the camping area, which upon first inspection looked very much like the one I had just left. Trailers, white trash, lots of empty wine and beer bottles collected in the recycling bin.
Only when I road downhill, and waded through this disappointing muck, did I find the most amazing spot I’ve had yet in Europe! Imagine the smile on my face when I found this open field surrounded by high hills next to the river. I’m writing now with the sun shining down, my trusty Surly leaned against an oak tree and the sound of the river and wind as my only two muses.
This is without a doubt, the best spot I’ve found yet. I may have to stay another night here. Hell, even Grandpa took a rest during the war, and it is Sunday after all.