Miesbach, 1999*. Crask Inn, 2013**. Minden, 2025. Once every dozen years, it seems, I have a Lost Property Disaster while cycle touring. But disasters which all get miraculously resolved.
The morning was all going so well. Nice self-made breakfast in my excellent Airbnb apartment. Early start from a waking Minden. Fast, wind-assisted progress along the splendid riverside path. But then, as I stopped for a wee in a wood about ten miles out, I realised my phone was gone. Not in my pocket, where it had been. Did it fall out just now? I looked around; nowhere to be seen.
It must have fallen out my pocket somewhere since leaving Minden. So only one thing for it. I had to cycle back ten miles to where I last used it, and scan the path.
I got back to Minden. Not a trace of the phone anywhere. I turned round and redid the ten miles to my point of realisation. Nothing.
All this time I was turning over in my head the enormity of the situation. My Interrail ticket was on there. Oh. Recoverable somehow with a long phone call, I guessed, but I’d need a new phone. Which I could buy in Bremen a railway journey away, no doubt, but how does it work with SIMs and phone contracts for a UK customer buying in the EU?
What about security implications? Two-factor authentication for bank accounts and so on would have to be changed over to the new number. Lots of tedious phone calls and emails involved. Until resolved, those facilities might not be accessible. Yikes. Change of phone number on utilities, websites, memberships, all my contacts… argh.
I shuddered at the extent of it all. Even my maps were stored on the phone; I’d have to navigate by, er, following signs and asking people, like in the old days. I’d have to omit some days of the trip to do all the rescue admin, which would be badly compromised. Ah.
(Yes, I know about FindMyPhone. Using it, you can go online with a PC or other phone and find your lost phone’s GPS position, if it’s switched on, and even make it sound an alarm. Not much use if you don’t have a spare phone with you, are alone, and do have a PC but without internet access.)
Back at my weeing spot, I knew this was my last chance. I searched again, inch by inch, promising to be a good person forever if I could just find my phone. I saw a small black puddle; curious, I didn’t remember standing water. Suddenly, the small black puddle – jogged by my foot – lit up with the time and date. MY PHONE!
I was very, very, very relieved. I’d avoided losing days of phone calls, emails, time, money, stress. Everything was good. So I promised to be a good person forever. (Terms and conditions apply.)
So, thanks to that doubling back, it turned out to be a longer day than expected. But the adrenaline high of relief kept me up for the rest of the day.
I zoomed happily along good, sunny flat paths, and stopped to admire a sausage vending machine.
Shortly after I had a very tasty pizza and takeaway cherry cake in a friendly local Bäckerei. The proprietor joined in the spirit of my banter about my lost-and-found-phone experience. Just as I was leaving, she smiled and advised me to check I had my wallet. I patted various pockets in mock-panic before locating it. Ah, doch! Gott sei dank! Chuckles all round.
Nienburg’s old town had a market going on, patronised by lots of cyclists. It also had a large reproduction on the side of the church of Picasso’s Guernica.
It also had an Asparagus Museum, sadly closed today. These sections of the D9 coincide with the Lower Saxony Asparagus Road. Clearly the crop is a big deal round these parts. Another big deal seems to be ornamental bikes, painted various colours and put out to decorate the roadsides.
I got to Drakenburg; I’d originally planned to camp here, but with a tailwind and the exhilaration of disaster averted, I carried on. A change of direction meant a slog against headwind into Hoya where I had a mediocre coffee, but could also stock up for tonight’s campsite dinner from an Aldi.
The final few kilometres were level, gentle paths to the quiet village of Eitzendorf, where I rolled up about fourish.
Oh. The first campsite reception was closed, and the place seemed deserted: lots of long-term motorhomes and campervans but nobody in them. I tried Eitzendorf’s only other campsite, with the same outcome. But back at the first, I eventually found a resident couple. They explained the place was only for Dauercampers – residents: no tents, no one-nighters. But they assured me the second campsite did take such.
Back at the second, there was still nobody around. I sat out a storm in their convenient covered patio, which had wifi and sockets. (I did consider just pitching the tent here, under cover.) Eventually I spotted a resident out for a smoke; she kindly phoned the campsite owner for me and said it was fine for me to stay.
So I pitched, put the fee in cash in an envelope and slipped it into the office postbox, showered, and had dinner on the covered patio in this strange place, devoid of all people except for the angelic fag-smoker, who had now vanished.
A curious day in many ways.
Miles today: 69
Miles from Füssen: 674
* In 1999, my fully-laden bike – including barbag with passport, money etc – was taken after being foolishly left unattended and unlocked outside a friend’s apartment in Bavaria. We reported the theft to the police (listing the items stolen took about half an hour) and I resigned myself to the loss. These were only things, I told myself; nobody’s died, it’s only things, and things don’t matter. Immediately after this Buddhist-style enlightenment, miraculously, my bike was found. All intact, nothing stolen, everything there. It was as if the fates had decided to return my bike to me but only once I’d had the insight that it didn’t actually matter. Back to top
** In 2013, doing Land’s End to John o’Groats, I realised in the middle of nowhere in the far north of Scotland that I’d lost my waist-pack (wallet, money, keys etc) somewhere. I retraced my steps for a few miles, panicking. Another miracle: the owner of the Crask Inn, where I had left the thing, was driving towards me in his Rover. He smiled and waved the lost item out of the window for me. He’d found it and – knowing I could only cycle along one road – driven out to find me and return it. Back to top