On the smallest of routes through Germany

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On the smallest of routes through Germany
Johann

to travel

On the smallest of routes through Germany

On the smallest of routes through Germany
6 ½ days

About the daring attempt to conquer the route between the Alps and the Baltic Sea with two very old two-stroke engines? and over the true distance of 392 kilometers.

Monika Schulz, Annette Johann

04/19/2002

“All in white, with a flower …” Phew, we weren’t prepared for that. Roy Black! His top hit penetrates inexorably from the lake terrace of the Hotel Gamsbock. Glowing red from the last evening light, the Hochkalter is reflected in the Hintersee, a couple of rowing boats swing on the shore, hat and postcard stands are pushed into the souvenir shops, the roller blinds thunder down with a rattle. Vacation in Germany! We adjust the chairs on the geranium-reinforced wooden balcony, spread the maps across the board floor and go through our plan one last time: Ramsau, Regensburg, Rudolphstein. Dessau, Rathenow, Ruegen. Something like that: “We are mountain vagabonds, yes, we …”, downstairs the music becomes livelier, the scent of hunter schnitzel wafts upwards. Okay, we didn’t want it any other way. Around 1200 kilometers of Germany lie ahead of us. Alps-Baltic Sea on a direct course. No big deal ?? actually. But there are no real motorbikes in the parking lot below, but two pioneers of the economic boom. Rated output 8.6 HP, together 100 years old, model NSU Lux. Two-stroke, 198 cubic. Witnesses of the reconstruction, the first post-war mobility for everyone. The Beetle among motorcycles, so to speak. Ever since Monika Schulz pulled something like this out of Father’s shed last summer, revived it and chauffeured it on back roads from Wimmental to Langenburg, at least 45 kilometers, she was obsessed with the idea of ​​discovering all of Germany with it . Longitudinally, on the smallest of paths. “Believe me, we’re going to dive into another world, you have no idea how deep the republic really is.” Well? I wasn’t so sure whether I really wanted to know. Especially after she let me drive the four kilometers from Grantschen to Dimbach. “When the red sun sinks into the sea near Capri …” Well, old friendship. I got one from the newspaper, luxe are not uncommon in Wurttembergischen. Moni chatted her old man again, then we practiced. Driving with eight and a half hp, screwing on the roadside, screwing in every free minute. De-rust the tank, seal it freshly. Dismantle, clean and adjust the carburetor. Ignition forward, ignition back, reorganize the post-war wiring. Try and error. With the «new ?? lux every test drive ended with a total electrical failure. The controller: down. »Field voltage« ?? huh? “61-51-31?” Damn it, how do you connect the electronic spare part? »?? bella-bella-bella Marie, never forget me … ?? Moni starts singing along. We should go to bed. In the morning, the Gamsbock pops parade on Bavaria 1. Better, we go. Lash the saddlebags, put the kick starter in position. The little ones jump on with high motivation. Before the first retirees notice, we lurch away. Wrapped in a blue two-stroke cloud and so indecently loud that the whole promenade gets into an uproar. Ha, no Boss Hoss could do it better. Claiming a full two meter gauge, we trumpet with 60 things along the southern shore of the lake. Early morning mist lies over the water, the »Kiosk in the Magic Forest« is still closed. First stage destination: Ramsau petrol station. Five kilometers. Set achievable goals. 1: 25 mixture and a good portion of air topped up. Ah, it’s easier to keep things on course. We follow the roaring Ramsauer Ache in ever bolder inclines, rattle past snack stations, beer posters and flower pots via Hinterschonau into posh Berchtesgaden. The first big challenge lurks here: the ascent to the Alpeltalhutte on the 1874 meter high Jenner. Vis-à-vis the Watzmann, high above the Konigssee. At 1100 meters the most exposed point on the tour. 24 percent incline! If it is Germany, then right. Hossa, the road seems to pierce vertically into the sky. Cars and vans come down with smelly brakes. Really damn steep. The engine speed drops so quickly in second gear that I can no longer downshifts and can only save myself in a side path. Moni grabs it, saws past me, howls at the first turn, comes back again. “Easy in the second!” Your machine has a slightly shorter translation, a little lighter loaded and ?? my dear colleague weighs ten pounds less than me. Obviously details that were decisive for the war. So, swapped pedestals and again. Full pot in the first, bang, the second, the screeching gets darker, falls into a deep rattle, soon just a gasp, until it stabilizes just before dying. After two turns and a little eternity, thank God, a plateau, gas back, the cats catch their breath. Until the next climb. They work it up with a brave 20 km / h. You really pack it. That it starts to drizzle ?? no matter. Every drop of cooling for the power dwarfs is worth the dripping faces and clothes. Scharnitzkehlalm. Windbagalm. The narrow road now swings broadly along the mountain. Occasionally the fir trees reveal a view of the valley, which is already deep below. We smoke triumphantly towards the Alpeltalhutte. The clouds are pushing closer and closer to the steeply rising rocks of the Jenner. Gas now. At a daring pace over the gravel path that ends in the shed of the Naturfreundehaus. We come to a screeching stop next to an old Eicher tractor, just at that moment it really starts to puck. Done! Nothing like going into the steamy dining room. A couple of mountain hikers sit at the wide wooden tables, move closer together, the landlord brings two schnapps without being asked: Long live the Lux! From now on, it’s theoretically only downhill. And how. In the morning we discuss the strategy. The descent must be approached systematically with the bland drum cans and with two-stroke engines that tend to zero (and fatally also lubrication). We readjust the cable brakes and decide to abseil in a controlled manner. It works out. Completely uninhibited, it goes over the Schwarzbachwachtsattel towards Bad Reichenhall. German Alpine Road. 50, 60, 70 things. With the motivating, mighty chain of the Alps behind, Dutch mid-range cars for the Luxe are just small fish. We mill helmet to helmet through the long serpentines, the full width of the street, better than Hockenheim and Mad Sunday put together, until the thing with the dripping fuel tap begins. Moni guiltily examines the growing puddle on the crankcase. To forget. That the seal was in the bucket. Eternal tinkering on a hiking parking lot with a view until the incontinence is somewhat resolved. Then: Reichenhall. Which would finally put the good mood over there. Better straight up the mountain than lost and lost among horsepower cars. Luxe hate heavy traffic. Mine starts to spin right away, gets blazing hot, goes out, barely starts and lifts resistance like a ten-ton on the clutch. Get out of here. As quickly as possible. But only after the A 8 is it bearable again, on secluded farm roads. Barely tractor-wide, they wind their way through meadows and fields. Take a deep breath. Come down. Statues of the Virgin Mary, rusted farm implements, here and there a hamlet with an almost unpronounceable name. Ideal cat territory. But no more real directional signs. Obviously you don’t expect strangers here. Full concentration while reading maps, tracking down thread-thin lines and pinhead-sized nests. Each branch raises new questions. Strictly speaking, we can no longer make any headway, hitting our way back and forth across the area to end up stranded at Lake Waginger See. We could camp here. Theoretically. But the pretty banks are blocked by long-term campers, the parcels on the B-side blocked with Eriba Nova and Knauss Sudwind. No! Everything hurts me now, but I’d rather get my bum sore than stay here. Taching, palling, it doesn’t stop. Trostberg. Finally a hotel. Completely exhausted, I crawl into the room. Just done 60 kilometers. Kicked 1000 times for this. I hate luxe. Moni coaches me. The second day is the hardest when you realize that driving oldies is not just funny. Back then in Langenburg, she would have loved to sunk her box in the Jagst. Really? Yes, she just never told me. But this feeling, when you’ve found the right rhythm, when it’s only the moment that counts … Yes, yes, the next day we approach things completely differently. A meticulous road book is written before departure so that it works better at the junctions. Then the machines get a medium-level inspection. On top of that, mine gets a new candle against unwillingness to start, Monis a freshly made seal against dripping. So ?? now the day should come. And it runs like clockwork. On lonely back roads we narrow to the north, even finding our way on dirt roads. Occasionally a hay cart turns up, a village, a few chickens, a gas station, but mostly we rattle alone through the heat-shimmering fields. The luxe toil like clockwork. A picnic at the roadside at lunchtime, a little nap, nobody will come by anyway. a short detour into civilization. Great old town with street cafes at the historic city gate. Our last rest is only nine kilometers back, but carelessly drive past the temptations of summer, strawberry cups, banana chips and currant cake? Enjoy the moment, take what is coming, discover the beauty in the little things in life. Suddenly it is there, the time. Endless time. Sometimes we still think of the Baltic Sea, but it doesn’t matter when and if we arrive. It doesn’t depend on us anyway. Shortly before Regensburg, I suddenly figure out how to adjust this strange, still unsteady clutch worm. Tool out, somewhere on the side of the road. We do not stay alone for long. As always, one of these nice older men appears out of nowhere, who once had a Max, an R 25 or a Durrkopp. “… at that time it always got stuck after 25 kilometers, you know, and always because of the stupid ignition coil.” Oh what! “If you have a bigger problem, Wastl Niedermayr doesn’t live far, has tons of old motorbikes lying around.” Do we know the “Muhlhiasl”? That is the prophet of the Bavarian Forest. No, we only know Carmen and Fox here, live over near Aufhausen in a mill on the Laber. Fox is a mechanic, has just had vacation and used to have a Max. When we drive on two days later, nothing drips or rattles and mine has a fiery red converted Maico clutch cable. “Aufhausen ?? Hardt ?? Cycle Village ?? left «, the road books are becoming more and more sophisticated. Around noon we ceremoniously cross the Danube and roll towards the Bavarian Forest. Hiking and bike path markings help with navigation. We penetrate deeper and deeper into the world beyond, but the ingenious-looking off-road connection over the 1095 meter high Hirschenstein is over. Unfortunately only for forestry. So it stays with the rest in the beer garden of the small mountain inn, with plum cake, Scholler ice cream umbrellas and a view of the entire Bavarian Forest. We are a good 800 meters high. The Luxe cool down with a crackling sound. The second big number on the tour. It’s just that the hottest day of the year is brooding today, and I’m not entirely comfortable with the strain on the old engines. “Oh, the summers used to be much hotter,” objected Moni. »Let’s at least drive to Waldmunchen, maybe we can finally camp at the Perlsee. OK. Buy provisions. In Kotzting with Norma. Oh, damn it, the air-conditioned supermarket brings us back to everyday life suddenly, brings all the worldly fantasies between herring cups, filter bags and Zewa Wisch&Way to collapse. It doesn’t get any better at the Perlsee campsite. Neat patios, garden gnomes, geraniums, and floor-to-ceiling house rules. At the lake, on the other hand, gamblers roaring unreservedly with lowered Corsas from the Opel Club Cham. The sheet metal expands rhythmically. »… an my hart goes bumm!« Great. Without us, on to Holl. Or would you prefer Tiefenbach? There is definitely no lodging in Holl, and by sundown we should … That’s when it happens! In full cornering, in the middle of Treffelstein, my little one gets stuck, the Kickstarter doesn’t go back and forth a millimeter. Let cool down. Definitely just a Klemmer. Everything will be fine in the morning. Right next to the Havarieplatz a meadow orchard, a flower-covered wooden shed, a wobbly house tent. Yes, that’s her campsite, explains an ancient woman in a sky-blue apron, seven marks a night. We unload under a couple of oak trees. With the unmistakable feeling of having arrived in this country, with all its corners that we would never have discovered without oldies. When the Lux still doesn’t make a sound the next day, we first go for a swim. Live the moment. Think in peace. Somehow it just keeps going. How do you find out in MOTORRAD 11/2002.

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Discovery of Germany ?? Anyone who wants to experience something here needs one thing above all: little horsepower, a lot of time and good cards.

Clearly: In Germany, the adventure begins with choosing a street. If they are small enough, so the surprising result of the tour, they can practically run through the meanest corners of the republic and are still fun. Therefore, federal and country roads should be consistently replaced in the road book with representatives of the district or regional league. In map German this means choosing a maximum of yellow, or better still, the white or gray lines. They virtually lead through the backyards of the republic, offering completely new perspectives. Car traffic suddenly stops, there are no longer dreary bypasses, and desolate suburbs and industrial areas just as little. Germany suddenly triggers holiday feelings like France or Italy. To do this, however, several factors have to be right. First: the weather. April to early June is particularly beautiful due to the spring mood, but the midsummer months of July and August offer more sun security. The risk of rain increases again from mid-September. Second, it is important to learn how to deal with small roads in a species-appropriate manner. If you dash through quickly, you won’t see anything and will probably miss half of all the branches. So take your time, don’t plan too long stages and – get involved. Also on the sometimes incomplete signage. Without the best maps it will be difficult. In principle, a detailed 1: 200,000 series like the Mairs general map is sufficient. However, we have had better experiences with this mission with the new series of regional maps from Falk (pages 13 and 16), which enlarge the proven Mairs map image to 1: 150,000. Looks like viewed through a magnifying glass and helps to see the small gray and white streets much better. Then also note down the important landmarks as a road book, and off you go. There remains the question of where to stay for the night. Here, too, a surprising result. For 25 euros per night and nose, pretty and tasteful quarters can be found everywhere, even in tourist areas such as the Alps. Often even without prior notice. Otherwise the tourist offices of the individual municipalities will help. On the other hand, the topic of camping, which is firmly in the hands of permanent and caravan campers in this country, was disappointing. Pity! If you still want to venture out, you will find the places marked on the maps or described in the ADAC camping guide.

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