It would be flattering to describe Bergen as a “one-horse town” – a three-legged, toothless, blind donkey would be more accurate. Which is surprising, given the size of the military base just outside it. There was one restaurant open, and no bars. The No1 place to dine in Bergen on Tripadviser, “Desperados”, a Mexican Steakhouse, is not open on Mondays, so Pizza del Peppe it was to be. It was okay, like Bergen, nothing to write home about.
Breakfast at The Hotel Dralle was in line with the rest of the town: despite us both being up early, and two of only a handful of guests, there was just one boiled egg left to be had, and a spoonful of rather dry and rubbery scrambled egg. The General courteously declined to forgo an egg, and I took the hard one.
The weather was warm as we left for Luneberg and got warmer throughout the day. Nudging 30, if not more. Lower Saxony passed by pleasantly, if repetitively – field of wheat, then field of barley, some cabbages occasionally, a few dairy cows; no pigs, surprisingly, as this would have completed the German diet: maybe they import them.
After coming down a rough track which was roped over at either end, we sped past the occupants of the houses at the bottom, lest they be offended, and turned onto the road up a sharp incline. The General’s chain came off, but was soon put back on, and we got on our way. With 11.1 miles to go (cricket enthusiasts will appreciate the significance), I stopped to check the route. The General pulled up beside me and I glanced at his chain and, by chance, noticed a half-broken link. We decided to press on carefully, rather than fiddle about with what would have been an amateurish, inept and probably unsuccessful roadside repair. The General rode very carefully in low gear, taking care not to exert too much pressure on the cranks so as not to snap the damaged link. On GoogleMaps we found a bike repair shop in Hacklingen just adjacent to our route and made our way there. Martin, the proprietor, was most helpful and efficient and had the job sorted in no time. Coincidentally, Hacklingen contains the villa where Montgomery made his headquarters and where he received the German Wehrmacht delegation to discuss their surrender. On GoogleMaps behind Martin’s shop one could see a large empty area that looked it might have been they grounds of a villa. Could it be? Well, sadly, no. But Martin was splendid anyway.
We completed our journey to Luneberg, which we found to be a surprisingly large, pretty, bustling, town, with an interesting history. Member of the Hanseatic League and famous for its saltworks. Would we have had more time to explore it. As it was, we found a steak restaurant, which helped make up for the disappointment of missing out on Desperados the night before.
Today was even hotter. A 12-hour+, 90-mile journey to Havelberg made for an early start. A short detour led to the monument close to the site of the German Army’s surrender to Montgomery on 4 May 1945 on the Timeloberg, a shallow-rising hill outside Luneberg. The monument marks the end of the war between our two countries and the beginning of reconciliation, partnership and friendship, and is marked with a ceremony eatery 10 years. The original monument was moved to Sandhurst after being vandalised several times, and the site lies now in a militarised zone and is inaccessible. The present monument was overturned, damaging the inscription, and so when it was righted a new, identical inscription was made on the other side. The original words can just be made out.
As for the rest of the journey, the four or five moderate climbs were early, and tackled by mid-morning. There then followed by a long grind along generally flat straight roads, occasionally passing through a small town or village, with little to see, and few places to replenish oneself, although two large storks nesting on top of a disused telegraph pole in Deutsch caught the eye.
The heat rose into the mid-afternoon and was oppressive and debilitating. Progress towards the end was further slowed by an unpleasant local habit of switching from smooth roads to cobbles in villages further east. One such cobbled monstrosity ran for nearly 3 miles down to the ferry over the Elbe at Rabel, which was my first site of the river, a few miles short of Havelberg.
Last schlepp to Berlin tomorrow.
The Trick Cyclist 