31 July 2014
Durnstein to Melk / Melk to St. Valentin / St. Valentin to Enns, Austria (30 miles; Total = 409 miles)
I’m fairly certain that was a waft of cat pee I just smelled, but I’m going to keep that thought to myself and hope instead that it’s my bike shoes. I’ve sat down on this questionably clean sofa to take them off, here inside our private zimmer for this evening. I’m glad we’ve saved a few Euro on our room after spending a few extra today to take a train to fast-forward us back up the Danube, but it has come at the cost of cuteness and cleanliness. Not that the bathroom isn’t clean nor the bedding, but the velour sofa and matching chairs have definitely been around the block a few times. It’s surprising Gina is even sitting down on them but when I mention this fact, she doesn’t want to talk about it.
We are in Enns, the town across the Danube River from Mauthausen, where we stayed a week ago. Before leaving Durnstein this morning, we walked straight up the rock wall behind town in order to visit the Durnstein castle ruins. This was only possible because I insisted we wait to do it until AFTER coffee.
The ride from Durnstein back to Melk, this time on the south side of the Danube, is right up there with my favorite cycling of the trip thus far. The views across the river to the hillside vineyards are spectacular and we are also blessed with riding right alongside the river, often distanced from its flow by nothing more than a shallow bank. There are apple orchards and apricot orchards and vine after vine of grapes. It’s a lovely route that we thoroughly enjoy before taking cover at a gas station on the edge of Melk when the rain – what else? – starts pouring down.
From Melk we board a train to St. Valentin, but not without first suffering through my usual anxiety while waiting for the train to arrive. My mind knows that there will be a little train guy that will pop out of the train and make sure everyone and their bicycles are on board before signaling the conductor to leave the station, but my nervous system creates a grand vision of running to and fro looking for the bicycle cart, my loaded bike unable to fit through the train doors, Gina onboard but me left behind, panniers askew, eyes crazed, zero Euro in my wallet. This, of course, does not happen, but the little train guy did make me park my bike on a slope, requiring me to stand and hold it in place for the 1.5 hour trip. Sitting here with my achey Popeye forearms in a room that might smell like cat pee makes me wonder if being left behind at the Melk train station would have really been all that bad.
