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My cousin Dirk is goal oriented. I love him. He is a superb skier. Each time I’ve skied with him, I’ve tried harder to perfect my technique, to wrangle my chubby body into peak fitness, all so that I might keep up with dear Cousin Dirk. But it is not possible. Try as I may, I always hit the wall, leaving his German ass triumphant once again.
During our Hochplatte hike, Dirk was disappointed: first, because we weren’t tackling Germany’s highest peak, Zugspitze—because Dirk’s silly American cousin had arrived a day late and brought only ankle-high, breathable hiking shoes rather than good, sturdy, leather hiking boots that could endure three-foot snow drifts (in addition to wedding shoes, Paris sightseeing shoes, and riding boots); secondly, because when we arrived at the pass on the Ammerwald, both his wife and I nixed the risky, steep, rocky scramble that lead to the ultimate high point, Hochblasse.
On my last day with Dirk and Delia, Dirk had an agenda. Of course Delia—being the woman and thinking ahead to a six-hour road trip, a wedding, baggage logistics, college-aged child logistics, and a visit with her own family—also had an agenda. She and I discussed her agenda, which sounded lovely to my tired ass. A short (IE: 3 – 4 hour bike ride), then back home to wash clothes, dishes, straighten the house, pack, and enjoy a final BBQ.
But neither of us is assertive enough to stand down a goal-oriented German man. (“Ja, but what would we do for the rest of the day?” Dirk grumbled as he got the bikes out of the garage.) I can’t say that I’m disappointed that we biked all the way to the Donau (Danube), or that we returned to swim at the lovely lake that launched my visit to Germany. But I will admit that my resistance was wearing thin. What was supposed to be a leisurely bike ride turned into a 31-mile, round-trip, test of endurance in 86〫 humidity. When our journey began at 11 am, it was already hot. The ride—accompanied by bird chatter—took us through a quiltscape of hamlets; farms; corn, turnip, and wheat fields; all seamed together by tidy tree breaks. By the time we reached the village of Vohburg on the banks of the Donau, my ass felt like ground meat.
Delia was smart enough to park her bike and wait for Dirk and me to complete the journey to the banks of the Donau, which was only a few blocks further.
But then, Dirk wanted me to see Castle Vohburg. With my limited grasp of German, I willingly followed. “Just up a little hill,” I thought he said. I began grinding gears and punching the crank down with every ounce of my nearly spent energy. We arrived at the top of a 60° incline and went through the gate, which opened onto the Church of St. Peter, which was preparing for an epic music festival. The view was great.
Even better, was joining Delia back in the town plaza for the best Eiscafe I had on this trip, followed by the long return trip home with a route deviation to our lake, by which time I really thought I might drown from exhaustion. But I did not drown. I got sufficiently cooled off to manage the remaining six miles back to the house, where we arrived around 6 PM, just in time to throw dinner on the grill and cram damp clothes into our luggage.
Dirk, I love you, but you damned near killed me once again!
My close friends know that I was a barrel racer when young; I can back a trailer almost as fast as most people can drive forwards; I learned to waterski on one slalom and not the traditional ‘2’ and then eventually wean to one ski. I cast open faced reels and once was a strong long-distance runner. I played basketball; But put me on a bicycle, and I often wreck or careen into the closest ditch to keep from wrecking, as my friends watch with disbelief!
Dirk surely loved watching his cousin try to keep up with him! I would have said, “You ride; I’ll jog beside you!’
You did well!
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A barrel racer? Youza! I had no idea. I was too. What state did you live in when you were doing that? Amazing.
Yes, it’s fortunate that at least I do ride a bike around town. I try to keep the car in the garage for big trips and heavy shopping. But I would definitely have died if I’d had to keep up with Dirk & Co. on foot! I’m not a runner!
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well helllllll-oh, sistuh! just a subtle lean (forward) in the saddle and a slight loosening of the reins, and equally-subtle squeeze of the thighs, and i’m about to break into full throttle on the horse…
1970s in mississippi delta.
;……. after a long weekend ‘break’ on the coast, i’m cloud forest bound where i’ll be on my friends property until it sells… online only a few hours each week, but oh my so lovely there, the serenity…https://alittlebluebirdtoldme.wordpress.com/
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I do remember that I thought you came from the southern US, which, sorry, I never asssociate with barrel racing! I know I should, but I always have it in my head that barrel racing is for dusty prairie arenas and sagebrush plains! 😉 Off to see what’s coming into the BLM wild horse holding pens after the fire.
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I love the title of the post and it has amazing photos!
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Oh Thank you, Lyn! And thanks for stopping by. I always struggle with titles, so it feels really good to hear that I got one right! (Of course, now my fear is that my beloved Cousin Dirk will stumble across this blog and take offense, which is not my intention at all!) I do live on the edge! ;-o
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It is really catchy and captures the post well! oh yes you are on the edge! love it!
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Hi Linda and congrats on stretching your abilities on this trip. We can get too complacent and just sit and sip that Eiscafe, but you did both! Congrats, girl!
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Oh, the Eiscaffe was the best! And I didn’t even feel guilty consuming it after all that activity!
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NEVER ever try to argue with a German – unless you want WAR!
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I could not have done that. Wellthat is NOT a trip you will forget for a long time.I just read the above comment and it gave me a good chuckle.oh-h-h wait a day or two , then you are really going to feel it, Jah?
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The thing about all this activity, I never got a chance to feel it the next day, because we were always onto something new! Really, it surprised me that I never got any blisters or stove up muscles. Just a bug bite that 2 months later is still yelling at me.
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Sounds like you’re in great shape! Hiking, biking (even walking) in mid day when it’s so hot is an achievement. Have loved following you on your numerous adventures on vacation.
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Thanks for following along. It means a lot to know that I’m not boring you to tears! 😉
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Not at all! Adding your adventures to my wish list.
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Wow your endurance is 1000% more than mine. But then I’m not the least bit active. I do have a bike, in the shed! And Tony has one in Viv’s garage, in Laramie! Maybe we should get them out and get moving!!
Love your pics and descriptions. Feel like I was there puffing up the hill with you!
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Yeah, get those bikes out and oiled up. Really, I struggle, having gone from being paid to walk to being paid to sit. There are way too many days when I don’t even get my 10,000 steps in. But what I lack in fitness, I make up for in determination.
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Dirk sounds like he has never lost that inner child who wants to discover things. You have to admire his enthusiasm, but I am with Delia saying that excursion is ” a bridge too far.” He would likely wear my ass out too.
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And if I were as wise as Delia, I’d have sat at the cafe and refreshed myself instead of going all the way up to the castle. But then, I’d have missed the gorgeous view . . .and darn it, I would have felt failure. I have only my own pride to blame.
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Thanks – lovely series of posts. Regards Thom.
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Thank you, Thom, for stopping by to check them out. It’s comments like yours that keep me coming back to post more.
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I could NOT have done that. You have my admiration …
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Sybil, I’m quite sure I could not have done that if I’d known ahead of time what I was getting into. But I am a proud and stubborn ol broad and I hate to be bested. The hardest thing was to try not to whine. Actually, what happened toward the end is that I started getting mad and then I just peddled even harder and had to wait for him and poor Delia.
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