13 Aug 2011
Dobel to Freudenstadt (66 km)
It seems that being a native German doesn’t necessarily mean that you can follow the bicycle route signs any better than being a German descendant born and raised in the States. Or at least that’s what appeared to be the case for the two German cyclists who had been following us for the past several kilometers up the the ridge outside Dobel. We have officially entered into the Black Forest now (turns out yesterday’s hills were a mere preview) and yes, it is a forest full of big trees, big hills, and big mountain bikes. Catching us at the top of the ridge as one would expect given their 3-pannier-less loads, we exchanged a few pleasantries with these two German women in their limited English and our complete lack of German, which amounted to a few Where are you from’s and Where are you going’s. With regard to the first, they surprising already knew we were from Seattle. I guess word travels fast in small Black Forest towns with only a guest house or two to choose from and a pair of Americans poking their noses around all. With regard to the latter, it sounded as though we were headed in the same direction, but once we parted ways, we really did not expect to see them again. With their lighter loads, mountain bikes, and ability to read German, they were sure to be long gone down the trail.
Only they weren’t. At every intersection we caught them staring heavenward, brows furrowed, searching the multi-directional trail signs for a hint of which way to go, maybe even praying to the one upstairs for a sign clearer than that right in front of them. This was a tad amusing to us as we have done the same and yet somehow, despite our inability to read a lick of German, were making quicker decisions about which road to take. Most surprisingly of all, the women had told us they were FROM the Black Forest. But I suppose to be fair, I’m FROM Washington State and would most certainly get myself lost if you plunked me down in the middle of Okanogon county and told me to find that town whose name rhymes with basket.
We leap-frogged the route for awhile with them this way until we finally blew past them on a long descent, never to see them again, which frankly, was a bit worrisome, given that we were all headed the same way. Luckily for us, our decisions culminated in finding the main route we were searching for – the Tour de Murg – that would take us up-river (and up 1,500 feet) over the next 45 km to the town of Freudenstadt. As for them? We certainly hope they found their way home in this big Black Forest. Maybe next time a trail of breadcrumbs would help.
