September 15, 2024, 4:07 pm | Read time: 7 minutes

The Altmühl cycle path is beautiful, scenic and can be mastered by almost anyone. In the final part of his cycle tour of Germany, our author Robin Hartmann explains why it still made his stomach turn.

Altmühl – back on the road at last

One could certainly fill entire encyclopedias with tales of the beauty of these towns and the quality of their food and beer. Suffice to say, my break was so filled with hearty meals and beer that I found myself sweating profusely as I pedaled on towards Rothenburg ob der Tauber. Even in the mild weather. But I couldn’t be happier, because I’m finally back on the road. Civilization is behind me again for the time being, the last 300 kilometers ahead of me. A thirst for action, a spirit of discovery—there you are again. How I missed you during those lazy days on the couch. Now I’m back in charge again, and the rediscovery of this feeling alone has made the journey worthwhile.

Strullendorf, Markt Hirschaid, Seußling, Lauf, Medbach, burning off calories, making distance—the soul slowly relaxes again. The villages become more idyllic. The whole country seems to be taking a lunch break, everywhere the roads are mine alone. Country lanes, a few tractors, Demantsfürth, Rappoldshofen, Gutenstetten, grazing calves, a church bell rings. A whole day has flown by, and evening is slowly setting in. Rothenburg welcomes me with a wonderfully clear night sky and several shooting stars. Although, after 130 kilometers, I am simply exhausted and perfectly happy.

Charity for the hiking bum

And then, the next morning, I am finally on the Altmühl cycle path. I have fled beautiful Rothenburg after less than an hour because of too many tourists.

It’s either me or my bike that’s broken, I think, as I rush up the first nasty incline much more slowly than usual. But then I get back on track relatively quickly, it was probably just a bit of residual rust.

Frommetsfelden, Pfetzendorf, Hilsbach—seemingly endless golden cornfields. Then I’m in Herrieden and take a dip in the town fountain when I arrive. That’s probably why the two schoolgirls, Jana and Paula, think I’m some kind of hiking bum and buy me entry to the outdoor pool because I’ve just run out of cash.

In that sense, this is an appeal to the supposedly largest bank in the eurozone, my bank: the whole of central Germany would certainly be happy to have a few branches. After the break, I continue, refreshed. A wonderful smell of freshly mown fields and the perfect cycling weather, leading me to Ornbau, where I spontaneously call it a day on a beautiful stretch of the Altmühl.

A refreshing swim, some friendly banter with the local charmers, and then there’s Rolf, the beach bar owner. He generously offers me a few beers and a place to sleep on a mattress. Once again, beneath a stunning starry sky. The next day, he proudly shows me his chickens, and I can’t help but envy his relaxed life. Rolf, you were a great host.

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Foot baths and a Polish barbecue

Not far past Gunzenhausen, I encounter a sizable tour group. 14 individuals, both young and old, all members of an extended German-Canadian-American family, now united in their cycling journey across the country. I enjoy their relaxed pace and their many breaks. They ground me a little and ensure that I really enjoy the landscape as well as the riding. But Bavaria is simply fantastic. Where in Berlin, for example, would you find open-air Kneipp footbaths in the middle of the route?

It seems as though every other town boasts these refreshing havens, a delightful respite from the heat. Wettelsheim, Treuchtlingen, Solnhofen, and we are already at our destination, Dollnstein. Here, at the end, the landscape is now really picturesque, rugged, rocky, green valleys have led us here.

For the first time, I pitch my tent at a campsite to keep up with my companions. But it seems I may have overstepped, as I am gently yet decisively turned away.

So on the fourth day, I continue alone again. Eichstätt, Pfünz, Almosmühle, another footbath, Inching, Brunnmühle, Pfalzpaint, Kinding. Then on to the campsite at Kratzmühlsee, I leave another day behind and pitch my tent.

A wonderful Polish family spontaneously invites me to a barbecue. The next morning, I’m fortified for a canoe tour organized by the quirky ladies and gentlemen from the “Sonniger Altmühltaler” right outside the campsite. No cycling today. Today I’m just moving on the water. Letting the wonderful Altmühltal glide by calmly and majestically in the best weather. The slowest-flowing river in Germany sets its very own pace. And I am only too happy to adapt to it. The sun is shining from the sky and all the wildlife is greeting me from the reeds and trees.

From time to time, I ask one or two anglers if they have had any luck. There are certainly plenty of fish in the Altmühl, from carp and catfish to brown trout and even char.

Destroyed culture

Let me offer a word of caution. If you’re staying at the Kratzmühlsee campsite, think twice before dining at the two adjacent restaurants. The rapid service, with dishes arriving in under five minutes, is a red flag I wish I’d heeded. It led to a night of tossing and turning, culminating in a rather distressing dawn. At least my stomach is empty again afterward and the heartburn is almost gone. But I still end up having to give up after 40 kilometers, with a heavy head and heavy limbs. In Riedenburg of all places, where the most scenic part of the entire Altmühl cycle path is located.

A bus takes me to Kelheim, where, thanks to the help of the extremely competent tourist office, I can quickly fall into bed, which I don’t leave until the next lunchtime.

It turns out that rest doesn’t always lead to rust; sometimes it’s just what’s needed for recovery. In my case, I find myself rejuvenated and ready for a boat tour on the final day of my journey along the Altmühl cycle path.

From Kelheim, I travel through the Danube Narrows World Heritage Site to Weltenburg Abbey, one of the oldest monastic monasteries in the world, which has been in existence since around 620 AD.

Regrettably, the cultural enchantment that should permeate the air is somewhat overshadowed by throngs of tourists and the cacophony of children’s shrieks. Despite this, the monastery, and particularly its church, stand out as true marvels. I resolve to return, in part to settle unfinished business with the monastery tavern: my delicate digestive state prevented me from sampling the ‘Barock Dunkel’ beer, reputed to be among the world’s finest. In that sense: “I’ll be back”.

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‘We backpackers stick together!’

We then mobilize the last of our strength, 40 kilometers to Regensburg, via Kapfelberg, Poikam and other nests.

The scenic route along the Danube turns into a test of nerves, as a significant part of me yearns to reach the destination and put cycling behind me for good. However, the trip comes to a perfect end when I am approached by “Schuss” while looking for a place to spend the night – I never asked what his real name was.

“We backpackers have to stick together,” he says, and now I’ve already secured a place to sleep on his couch. Sleep eludes me that night, as my mind replays the past weeks along the Altmühl and I reflect on the journey that’s unfolded. This wonderful country that I got to know a little better, with its fantastically friendly and helpful people, to the sun that spoiled me for three weeks without interruption, and to all the beautiful places and things I saw along the way. Thank you, Germany, you were absolutely overwhelming, and I would love to come back – the next bike tour is already being planned.