As far as comical place names go, Hardegg wins. Hands down. I personally don’t think it will be topped. After camping in the Narodni national park on the Austrian border (and being rumbled by ticks and flies) this was the first village, and it was a zinger. Despite the early morning storm it still looked pretty, like a supermodel wearing a binbag, although like most places in Europe, it liked to don it’s religious beliefs on it’s sleeve, but let’s not get me started on religion, eh?
You won’t find a better place name.
It was pretty too, despite the storm.
Austria otherwise seemed pretty empty heading in from the north, except a tiny village where there was a wedding going on. Sometimes when you’re cycling solo little things lift your mood a lot, here a guy handed me a glass of champagne in a Tour de France fashion, I would’ve took a sip and splashed the rest over my head to follow suit, but this was precious liquor, so it immediately got raised and quaffed after a ‘vielen dank!’.
Austria also brought about my first ‘Go-Slow’. I was meeting Ben, my brother in Vienna in a few days so I fleshed out the route, heading west through hills and tiny villages before hitting the Danube, a cycle touring hotspot. Cycling it is fun, in fact it’s so cycle friendly you kind of forget the stress of cycling on busy roads completely after sharing a designated lane all for yourself (and the hundreds of other tourers). My only issue with it, is the fact that you find yourself in a valley which is surrounded by tourism, and as someone who’s trying to wild camp it can be tricky, this lead to my first ‘fuck off’ of the tour. I spent too long dithering outside some woods, they weren’t even great woods to camp in to be honest, but some guy ushered me on.
The Tangerine Dream meets the Danube
I want that ship’s engine.
They had a statue of Future Sam, for some reason holding my balls. Time will tell.
Fortunately, the also lead to my first ‘nice-guy’ experience of my trip. I must have looked lost (nothing new) and heard a shout behind me. Five minutes later, I’ve met Antillion, we’re riding into town and he’s showing me somewhere to camp, but not after passing his friends bar, buying me a beer and some food.
Bonafide. Hero.
You read on other blogs about people’s generosity and think ‘wow’, but when it happens to you, especially when you’re in a tight spot, it’s something else. I didn’t even manage to get a photo of the guy before he went off but if you’re reading this; Antillion, thank you.
Precisely 30 days after setting off I got to experience my first real lap of luxury; a fancy hotel in Vienna courtesy of Ben, my brother, all paid for by some rich oil company. It must’ve been at least four crowns. I’m not sure how many sweaty, bearded cyclists walk their chintzy halls, but it was a welcome break, and really good to wander around and catch up with Ben for a couple of days. He also convinced me to hunt down a replacement GPS, a wise decision in hindsight, this one hasn’t packed in yet, and it was definitely the last city I could get one.
On the last night I met with Ben’s colleagues for a couple of drinks, and after telling him about my plans (which up to this point was to veer towards the Adriatic coastline and cycle south) told me I should tackle Bosnia, following the River Bosna south. He even drew me a map on a napkin, which I’ve kept. The plan has changed (again).
The map for the future.
My last memory of Austria was joining up with the Danube again to cycle to Bratislava, which all seemed very normal, until the stretch of the river littered by nudists, my first foray into the ‘comfortable’ continental lifestyle, which seems restricted to the 40+ age bracket. The usual punters stood around with either their orange tackle swinging about, or boobs reaching for their knees, and of course there was the mandatory blessed bloke, hands on hips, complete with a knob that resembled Popeye’s forearm with coconuts for knackers. Honestly, given a life or death ultimatum it’d be tough to choose between a bumming or hitting you over the head with it. There was even a naked guy who jumped on a bike and put on his helmet, in the very literal sense of the word. Safety first kids.
As a pale, clothed, sweating cyclist, it’s fair to say I stood out a little bit, and eventually a long-titted orange old lady told me I couldn’t cycle further on this route, and directed me around a different way, maybe there was an x-rated section of the Danube ahead, but I wasn’t prepared to find out, I took the next left and cycled off.
There was some good graffiti in Vienna.
All three dimensions
Green eyes
A crudely painted Austrian flag looks pretty damn cool.
