I rode to England today, but not in the way I expected. It’s a village in far north-eastern Germany, heard of which I not previously had. But when I spotted the name on a sign, soon after setting off from Husum, I couldn’t resist a slight deviation to see it on the penultimate day of this German End to End.
Red squirrels had accompanied me on my bright, chilly morning ride out of Husum on decent surburbs bike paths. They were busy hoarding nuts for winter, and regarded me warily. The evil greys are invading here too, but I saw more reds this morning than I have in (the country of) England since we had shillings and pence.
When I got to (the German) England I found an unremarkable little hamlet: no church, no shop and only a few dozen houses, many of them holiday cottages or B&Bs. All was quiet apart from a few holidaymakers strolling round, perhaps on the hunt for Marmite, baked beans, or low-quality bread.
There is, however, a hotel and a Restaurant England. And even an English flag.
Which reminds me of the joke: ‘My grandfather fought with distinction in the war and is a great Reform supporter. In fact, he’s selling his war medals to raise funds for the party. He expects to get quite a lot for his Iron Cross.’
The rest of the day was basically a long, long slog into a hard headwind that slowed me down to a few miles an hour. There were long stretches along one side of a dike, and then the other, and then the one again.
And there were a great many grazing sheep, and almost as many awkward sheep gates. It was all a world of bright green slopes, bright white blobs, bright blue sky, and dark muttering from me as I pumped laboriously away.
I’d planned to have lunch at the touristy village of Dagebüll, but it turned out to be a bit underwhelming. The main street had a few cafes, some of them even open. I had a fish sandwich that must have been fresh, because it was so slow to arrive I guess they had been out to sea to catch it after my order. Then I had a blueberry muffin and cheap takeaway coffee, to bolster me against the rest of the day’s big headwinds.
Today was another short day – I only had 14 miles of quiet flat lanes left to Klanxbüll, where my cheap Airbnb awaited. I waited at a level crossing while a train thundered past, and a question was answered. With no road bridge and no ferry to Sylt, my trip’s terminus tomorrow, I wondered how cars get there.
Aha! It’s by this motorail service: a long, long train that shuttles cars and occupants on a 45-minute journey from Niebüll on the mainland over the marshy waters to Sylt. (It’s not cheap – €130 – but if you can’t afford that, you can’t afford to enjoy yourself on Sylt anyway.)
I supped a couple of supermarket beers in my B&B and enjoyed a decent pizza in the village’s only eatery, by the train station. There were a couple of tourists who never stopped talking, and a local bloke at the bar who never started. It’s been great, but I’ll be glad to finish tomorrow.
Miles today: 46
Miles from Füssen: 847