For most of yesterday, I was feeling remarkably positive about the lakes of southern Germany. Not sure if it's actually called Bavaria but that's what I think it is. Really lovely countryside, full of farmers raking up their hay, gently ploughing or stacking, in wide sunlit valleys where big-eyed cows graze silently and time seems to move very slowly.
After half an hour of pottering along some perfect river valley you might feel the need for a kaffee or alkohol-frei bier which, as likely as not, will be served by someone from the 19th century. Lederhosen are a common sight and even the odd Meershraum pipe smoker. Everywhere healthy people are out hiking or cycling, picnicking on the banks of the many fabulous lakes that litter the area south of Munich, half an hour's drive. You get the picture.
Like many mountainous areas, the weather can change quickly. Every year an experienced sailors regularly die on the Ammersee as a storm blows up. Over-ambitous bikers have been known to throw off their leathers and plunge unwarily into the crystal clear waters of the Starnberger See, never to re-emerge.
After a fabulous day touring we were strolling round the grounds of a lakeside museum (built to the memory of Das Boot author ???) when the sky darkened ominously in the distance and occasional flashes of lightening had us scattering back to the car park. By the time we had thrown on our waterproofs the wind was buffetting our bikes and we set off in a hurry to hit the motorway back to Munich.
Oddly enough, you can see better on a bike when you're zooming along because the wind whips the water off your visor. We were crawling through the evening traffic and visibility was dreadful. So it was hardly surprising when, at a busy, dangerous junction, where we had to nip over some lights, double back on ourselves and hop over down a side road, we lost our tail-end Charlie.
It's not a big deal losing someone. We just pull over and wait until they catch up. But, in a moment's confusion Charlie rode on by in the opposite direction, headed towards who knows where, , and we did not see him again for many hours.
I won't go into the details. Suffice to say that a long, wet, miserable search followed. I managed to find my way back to Gemering, where Tillmann lives, though I was so anxious by this time that I could not find his house. Despite having no address, no phone, no maps and no money Charlie did eventually find his way there, thanks to a bit of luck, a lot of common sense and clever use of his satnav to re-trace the previous evening's excursion.
He arrived ten minutes before me and I'm not ashamed to say that tears of relief were shed (by me, natch!). In my heart I know that my monster son is more than capable of looking after himself in the big wide world but I wasn't quite ready for him to prove it to me just yet!
Jony
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