The secret journals of an avid cyclist (More Motion)

~ On the relative merits of our steeds, Fuessen
and its surroundings, The Forggensee, A disappointment ~

K. joined me shortly, brushed and groomed and looking quite pretty - a sight for sore eyes, which, in this case, was represented by Q. He'd made it, although the looks upon his face were indicative of a deep struggle within. He looked as though a million tiny devils were dancing the hornpipe on his head, with nasty, spiked clogs, and a million more were lending the dancers immoral support. Come to think of it, it was a bloody miracle he could hear a coherent thought through the cheering multitudes.

We wheeled our bikes out: me, my gleaming Shimano-something 21 gear, full iron (okay, so it is a leetle heavy), active front suspension, rear soft-saddle, bargain bike, Q. came next, his Scott cruiser hefted on one arm with all possible Shimano stuff loaded and, last of all, K., with her rather down-on-its-luck contraption. It could be called a bike only by default. It had: wheels (2), chain (1), brakes (2), handlebar (1), something that could have passed for a saddle (1) and pedals (2). It was probably what you could expect if you explained the concept of a bicycle, carefully and conscientiously, in Greek, to a blind, Dutch cattle-herder and then asked him to build one for you. K. maintained, despite our incredulous looks, that her cycle would stand the ardours of the day. This did not surprise us, the unspoken question was: would she?

Fuessen (the 'ue' is the funny German 'u' with the two dots on it) is a small town at the foot of the Alps, home to Germany's (allegedly) most beautiful fairy-tale castle - Neuschwanstein. It was built by Ludwig the second, one of Germany's more batty monarchs. Apparently Neuschwanstein was to be his dream come true - a medieval castle, complete with turrets and the other accessories. It was built between 1869 and 1886, which was about the time that Ludwig ran out of money and, in this time, only about a third of the building was ever completed. Nevertheless, the scenery around the castle and the little village, at the foot of the hill leading up to the castle, are worth a visit. Although, as most of the people flocking to this place are tourists, a certain commercial air pervades the place. Sure, there is the occasional German, or Bavarian family to be found, but this is more in their natural role as a guide for their visitors.

We reached Fuessen, the trains being punctual for once, and got out into brilliant sunshine. Promptly, I shook out my map and proceeded to follow the directions which would bring us to the Forggensee as soon as possible, the tour being a complete circuit of the lake. As I am not a gifted map reader, it took a while before we were actually on our way, and then a little more time while I corrected errors made in the first reading before we were actually on the right way. Pretty soon, we came to the first landmark and that's where we got a shock. According to the map, we should have been able to see the lake from that point. But all we could see was a little depression in the ground, extending over some square kilometers, with the occasional damp patch here and there. Q. and K. turned accusing eyes on me, as though I was singularly responsible for the absence of the lake. I wasn't. So there!

Having come thus far, we decided to plunge on and follow the tour when, presently, we came upon a middle-aged couple taking a little stroll in the cavity. They looked to be locals, out enjoying the lovely day. As the disappearance of a large body of water is not a fact one can take in one's stride, we decided to get to the bottom of this mystery. Conseqently Q. addressed the couple, uttering probably the finest statement I've ever heard: "Entschuldigen Sie bitte, aber wissen Sie wo die Forggensee sich befindet?"

Later it turned out to be not so much of a mystery after all. Apparently the supply to the lake was in the Alps, and the snow hadn't yet melted. Ergo the rather empty patch of land in front of us. Having no choice we continued the tour, circling the depressing depression. But then, at some point, the route branched off from the lake and we shortly came upon a wonderful vista of verdant meadow dotted here and there with yellow flowers (the names of which I do not know) and, as a fitting backdrop to this natural stage, the magnificient Alpine ranges, the peaks still covered with snow, imperial, majestic and, perhaps some kind of proof that there is, indeed, a God. I still have a picture of it somewhere.

To cut a long story short, the rest of the tour abounded with such views and I, reverting to the little Japanese in me, clicked away like there was no tomorrow. Some of my fondest memories are of that afternoon, with K. and Q., playing at the foot of the Alps with nary a care in the world. I am going to do another tour like that. Sometime soon!