3. Waves

(Day 14-19, 1.600km cycled)

Ups and downs, the Côte d'Azure

Celebrating distance turned into respect, or lets say, a mild fear for the mountains that separated me from shaking hands with Marie-Pierre and Isi from Sekovio-Pepin (the organisation working in Seko Togo, which I raise funds with). 

At this point, I would love to take the time, to take a deep breath, open the floodgates, fill my eyes with water and cry about how fragile my body is.  But I wont do that. I will cut it short and simple: 

For me, Mountains = Knee pain.

That needs to be avoided. In my eyes, it poses the biggest threat to me completing this journey. 

So lets ready-up, say goodbye to the curious wild boars from my first wild-camping night, and start the -> fuck around and find out <- experiment with the mountains. 

Will my knees snap in half and hence be used as walking sticks? 

My chosen route would hoist me across the alps and into the sparking waves of the Cotê d'Azure, following the EuroVelo8 bike route for a while before I decided to ditch the route on the last 50km and freestyle down to the coast in order to save me some kilometers. 

 

That was a good plan, I thought. And to be honest, it was. Mostly. Sometimes. Well...

The first of the two days into Nice, Komoot chose to ignore the obvious nicely paved two way road and rough-test my equipment by sending me over an increasingly rocky path, just parralalell to it. Well. Fine. One climb across the rail of the road and I enjoyed the smooth ride over asphalt again. Further down the track, the official EuroVelo8 (EV8) followed, what I can only assume, an old traintrack. That was amazing because it cut out the steep ascend. Until it just stopped. No bridge meant I had to turn back. 

Did the signs say this way is the route? Yes. Did it look like a legit cycle route? Yes. Did it just end in nothing but a missing bridge? Yes. 

Thanks EV8. Its hard to know what part of the way Komoot trying to fuck me over and which part of the way the EV8 is trying to fuck me over. It's a game of between the two and I am the ball. Being smashed against the wall, forced to return the other way to the sender. 

Apart from these planning mishaps on my end due to my lack of a crystal ball, the first day went well. Very well. 

I eventually reached a point close to Graguignan, where I figured, it would be best, I continued cycling to a camping in Bargemon, so I ned to do less kilometers the following day, my last day to reach Nice. 

This decision came with a price though. And this price stood at 20km and 370m elevation. That's the amount I had to cycle extra. Great. Idea. Lukas.

To my courtesy, the official EV8 route sent me up a hill that was a solid 28% inclination. To everybody who has no idea how much that is:

Its about this much: 

Needless to say, I loved that cramp-inducing pushing exercise. But luckily, strong headwinds had me recover my energy before that last 150meter climb. Not. 

I remember looking at the mountains, knowing that there is only ~6km left but that it would probably still take me close to an hour to complete because of the change in elevation. But I powered through. I climbed those hills like no tomorrow. And boy oh boy, did I reach the last shop on my way just in time to treat myself with a coke (zero because I am still diabetic), 4 yoghurts (because they don't sell singles) some veggies for a delicious vegan wild-boar-couscous and beer. The shopkeeper was about to close the door in front of my face when, presumably my stank and maybe her pity for this poor cyclist had her hesitate just a second too long. Enough for me to slip inside and do a swift shopping. 

Bargemon was pretty... inconvenient. It had no camping like expected. It was just a campervan parking which meant, a second consecutive day of no showering. Or a second day of baby wipe showering to be precise. As a reward, my camping view was the best I have had so far on this trip! 

To the sounds of a barking dog, which was asking politely and extremely loud to be let into its owners house (I presume) I fell asleep. And also woke up to it. Poor dog.

I stepped outside, took in that great view right outside my tent entrance, felt the warm morning sun on my skin and immediately knew, its going to be a good day. I would be finishing that shorter last sprint, riding across some last hills when eventually reaching the ocean. Seeing those wave for the first time on my trip. 

After packing up and jumping onto the saddle, the first kilometers just rolled off the wheels butterly smooth. The climb I did the day before was a fast, fast descent. The EV8 had me fly across the hills on its former train tracks right when that power trian came to a screetching halt at the Peygros hill. To be honest, while riding was smooth, I was exhausted from the past days and it was blazing hot. Peygros was closed off due to severe fire hazard. I could understand. Even the lightest spark would have turned that absolutely dry-ass fauna ablaze. Thinking about smoking a cigarette could have turned that mountain into a massive BBQ. 

For me, sadly that means, turning back. At a point where turning back was absolutely inconvenient. It meant a delay to my announced arrival in Nice and it meant many, many more dreaded climbs. More altitude that I didn't need. And neither did my knees.

While my left knee had been sounding alarm of getting overworked the day before, my right knee, now doing most the work, started to eye that alarm button too. And I still had plenty of kilometers on my plate. 

So dear kids in the audience, now follows something I can't advise and please, cover your ears. 

I decided to descend the mountain at another almost as hazardous, just as closed off, and even more steep and rocky descend. It was a short descend of 15 minutes but going down that hill is like asking for trouble big big time. 

Sometimes life plays dirty tricks on you, and now, while I was in lethal danger, riding down a hill that could quite literally start burning every second, my front rack decided, it's the perfect time to threaten to fall off. Thank you. Just what I needed. 

I stopped for a minute, contemplated whether I should fix it, and decided, that its either me or the front rack who has to go today, and it sure wouldn't be me. So I continued my hellish ride down the dry-ass slope while the front rack held on for dear life on an extremely loose screw I couldn't reach. 

The fact youre reading this, means I have made it. Even the rack held up and after a quick 30-45 minute fix that had me disassemble the front rack, the bag and front wheel, I was off, back on track, towards Nice. 

Now. That wasn't all that happened on that day but since this blogpost is already long enough, I will give you a quick rundown of what happened next. 

Writing about it all would fill a whole book. 

On my final descent before reaching the ocean, I could not only enjoy some good speed but also my first sight of it. I touched the Promenade of the Cotê d'Azure close to Cagnes-sur-Mer and had a wonderfully smooth ride, gazing at the waves, into the heart of Nice, Place Massena. Isi and Marie-Pierre awaited my arrival there and closed me into their arms. The dirty stinking bike-hobo had actually made it 1600 kilometers from Cologne all the way to Nice.

The following day, I spent my time relaxing on the beach, eating Pain au Chocolat and recovering from the tour. With the two from Sekovio-Pierre-Pepin we discussed more about my ride and how the donations will.be used for diabetics in Seko, Togo. 

I was supposed to take another day break from cycling but a day later, I couldnt help but cycle to Cannes. It was a beautiful, flat 40km ride. More beach-time followed. It was a crass contrast, me cycling past the Quatari Ferraris, Munich Rolls Royces, and British Bentleys. Luxury, abundance and status versus airbed, blowouts and anonymity. 

A storm. A calm, sunny, great weathered storm is what I woke up to the next day. The day which should mark my official departure towards Barcelona. A ~720km ride in 7 days. That was the goal. 

This wasn't ideal, 40km/h headwinds were giving me a really, really hard start on this tour and they were so strong, even going down the hills of the rocky and hilly cost, meant I had to pedal in order not to stay stationary. It was hard and absolutely discouraging. The first two days, my ride back across the Alpes Maritimes into Aix en Provencr was governed by these winds. Was it enjoyable? Absolutely not. Was the weather still 30 degrees and better than in most of Europe? Yes. Had I wanted to trade it for 20 degrees, rain YET, no wind? You bet your ass, I would have.

Waves are great. They are the perfect metaphor for what this trip is. They come and they go again. There is no ebb without a tide. And while a hard ascend can be made up by an amazing camping view, horifying and dangerous descends can be made up by seeing the ocean, the joy of seeing Sekovio-Pierre-Pepin in Nice, getting rest for my legs, and enjoying the beach, can swiftly be reduced to a constant struggle against the headwinds. 

Good experiences lessen the bad ones and without bad experiences the good ones are only half lived. I don't have a yin and yang quote but here is an emoji of it: ☯️

This tour isn't comfortable. It's painful, exhausting, dangerous and plain stupid if you ask me. But if I make it out at the end,  there is something to be proud of a life long. Something so unforgettable, my grandchildren will be tired of hearing the story. 

And by the way, we are already on track to save a couple lives on the side. 

Thank you to all who support me and to those who have the means and the strength to donate. 

If you would like to support the cause, you can donate here: 

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