Our Bachanalian excesses earnt us some reprimand when we got back to the campsite, a strongly worderd request for us to adjust the volume downwards, put a slight dampener on the mood. Some of our party were keen to keep the party going which is how we ended up sat around one of the lakeside picnic benches.

“Them boys are real lightweights,” Donna moaned, not for the first time since we returned.

There were some mumbles of agreement, we had sort of expected them to be about when we got back, several of our party were disappointed, hoping for a repeat of the previous night. Well okay, I wouldn’t’ve minded a bit of tonsil hockey with Ernst but I got the feeling one or two of our number were hoping to take things to the next level. No, not me, as if that's gonna happen, like ever!

Of course, having enjoyed the wares of Bachus the previous evening, I was not alone in being, lets just say not too perky Thursday morning. Someone had at least got me back into the tent which is where I returned to minimal daytime operating level. At least I wouldn’t have to deal with rampant parents, what happens at camp, stays at camp – well I hope so at any rate.

“You getting up Gab?” Anna’s voice enquired from somewhere, maybe above me.
“Too early.”
“Its gone eight you know.”
“It is?” I got out.
“Everyone else is up,” I was advised.
“’kay, there coffee?”

A shower, coffee and a meat and cheese Brötchen (there is no way I could face fruit loops with milk this morning), not neccesarily in that order, eventually brought me to a level of functionality enjoyed by the sober.

“You coming Gab?” Steff enquired.
“Coming?”
“We’re gonna catch the train to Ludwigshafen, do the shops.”

I still feel a bit fragile, do I really want to be catching trains and partaking of retail therapy.

“Er think i’ll just chill out here.”

And so thirty minutes later I was alone at the tent, the radio my company for the day, might go for a swim later, but relaxing at my pace is the idea.

“Not gone with your friends Gaby?”
“Oh hi Ernst, still a bit fragile after last night, I drank a bit too much, well a lot too much.”
“We heard.”
“Sorry if we woke people, didn’t mean to.”
“Some of us were gonna join you but Jo reckoned it might not be the best idea.”
“He might’ve been right. So what are you guys doing today?”
“Some have gone fishing again.”
“What about you?”
“Dunno, go into town or something maybe.”

My grey matter finally managed cohesive thought.

“Fancy a bike ride?”
“Bike ride?”
“Yeah, not far, maybe down this Weinstraße thing? I need to clear my head after last night.”
“Could do,” he agreed.
“Cool,” I enthused, “give me ten minutes to get ready.”
“Sure.”

I changed from shorts and cami to one of my sun dresses and quickly applied a bit of slap. Look its more comfortable on the Schauff and I’m more protected from the sun. I grabbed a couple of bottles of water which went in my basket along with my camera and Handtasche.

“Ready?” Ernst enquired arriving on an elderly Peugeot ‘racer’.
“Just about,” I allowed.
“Best zip your tent up,” he suggested.
“Er, would you mind, I can’t reach the zips.”

Well I could, just but if Ernst does it I can watch his hot bod.

“Sure.”

He put his bike onto its side stand and proceeded to shut the tent up – not that it makes it exactly secure but at least the contents are hidden from direct view. Job done we both mounted up and headed out of the campsite.

“So where to Gab?”

The Weinstraße itself is a not very bike friendly two lane road but I recalled seeing a map yesterday in the tourist info for the bike version which takes a more casual route through the farmland and vineyards. I'd spotted a marker board down on the bypass so that seemed to be a good starting point.

It somehow felt right to go south towards Bad Dürkheim, the route took us on a more convoluted route than we’ve been using into the centre then used a shared path to climb out of the town. It wasn’t far before we were directed away from the main road and into the regimented lines of vines.

“Nice bike,” I suggested in an effort to make conversation.
“Not really, used to be my dads, its really ancient.”
“Isn’t retro supposed to be cool?”
“Clothing maybe but bikes?”

He might have a point, when I’ve seen like collectors bikes they’ve been like proper race bikes or those Chopper type things. The Pug next to me was neither, what Dad calls suicide brakes, the rack held on with those screw up hose clip things and the gearshifters mounted on the stem. Yeah, my Pinarello it isn’t but I guess it works, much like my own mount which weighs precisely four times my race bikes weight.

“Which way now,” he asked.

There was a sign post that suggested both forks in the lane were the right way but the left hand had an extra sign.

“What’s a ‘Villa Rustica’?” I enquired of my companion.
He shrugged, “dunno.”
“Guess we’d best find out then,” I suggested.
“After you.”

I kicked off, Ernst close behind.

Maybe two minutes later we arrived at a gate, the sign attached declaring the Villa Rustica Wachenheim to be beyond the portal.

“Some sort of Romischer farm,” Ernst advised reading the board at the side, “you wanna look?”
“My Dad’s into this stuff, I can get him some pics.”
Ernst opened the gate and we pushed the bikes inside before parking them up.
“Theres a bunch of Roman stuff back around home.”
“Yeah we’ve got some too,” I opined as we started to investigate the ruins, “whenever we go anywhere Dad takes us somewhere archaeological.”
“He’d be well away by us, the Lim-es is near, lots of forts and stuff and castles in the Taunus.”
“I’m sure he knows about them,” I replied, yeah he knows alright, he’s dragged us around more than a few.

Its not the biggest of places, presented in a style Dad disparagingly calls ‘gentrified’, everything in partial reconstruction such that none of the original construction is actually on view. I took about a dozen pictures whilst Ernst read the information boards aloud, a lot of it more general Roman stuff rather than site specific.

“You want a drink?” I offered as we sat on a bench.
“Sure,” he agreed.
“There’s a couple of bottles in my basket.”
“Guess I’ll fetch them then,” he sighed getting back up.

What are you doing Gaby Bond? You’ve been flirting with him all morning, you’ve got a boyfriend at home, you don’t need another one to complicate matters. On the other hand, he is a good kisser.

“Here you go.”
“Er thanks.”

We didn’t sit too long, a couple with an enthusiastic Spaniel arrived and our quiet haven was no longer. The trail didn’t keep us entirely in the vineyards, we dipped through a couple of pretty little villages on the Weinstraße before we found ourselves dropping into Neustadt an der Weinstraße.

“We can get some lunch here before heading back,” Ernst suggested.
“I guess.”
“Bound to be a Maccy or something at the bahnhof.”

Last of the great romantics, I reckon he’s read the same ‘how to’ book that Max has.

Its a bigger place than Bad Dürkheim, certainly busier with an actual through railway line. I found myself sat on a bench looking out over the railway lines eating a Chicken Royale Menu.

“What’s that over there?”
“Where?”
“By the big shed on the far side.”
“Looks like a Dampflok, wonder what its doing there.“
“We can have a look when we finish this if you want.”
“If you like,” he agreed.

Which is how I found myself twenty minutes later negotiating the steep stairway down to the Pfalzbahn Museum. I’ve been to a few railway museums and ‘heritage’ railways and the DGEG is an amalgam of the two. The decision to go into the museum was largely Ernst’s, not that I minded, I guess he is doing engineering so this is right up his alley.

Its not the biggest of places but the exhibits excited my companion and even I could see they were interesting. Ernst ooh-ed and ah-ed at a VW bus made to run on rails, a cutaway steam train, even one with like an open cab bit from like eighteen fifty something, I’m guessing by its name, Der Pfalz, it was built to run here. By the time we’d explored old carriages, photographed a few interesting bits and bobs and sampled some locally brewed Stern beer it was after three.

“Guess we should start back,” I mentioned.
“You all right riding all that way?”
Ah, bless him.
“Its only, what, fifteen kilometres,” I pointed out, “I ride more than that all the time.
“Er, I don’t, I use my mofa.”

So its not me he’s concerned about, oh well.

“We can ride slowly.”
“Or we could use the train, I’ll pay,” he suggested.
What the heck, “go on then.”

We were waiting for the train to start its journey north when my Handy chirped with an incoming call.

“Gab?”
“Oh wotcha Con, how was Ludwigshafen?”
“We’re still here, you at the tent?”
“Er no, we rode down to Neustadt.”
“We?”
“Me and Ernst.”
“Ernst eh?”
“So when are you guys back?” I asked to change the subject.
“Maybe eight, there’s some problem on the bahn, they’re putting on buses.”
“Guess I’ll get something to eat before then.”
“Yeah, we’ll eat on the way.”
“Take care, tschussie.”
“Tschuss!”

“Problem?” Ernst queried.
“The others are gonna be late back, looks like I’m feeding myself tonight.”
“We could eat together?”
“What about your friends?”
“They’ll be having pizza or something at the site.”
“Won’t you be missed?”
“Doubt it, so what do you reckon?”

Maddy Bell © 25.01.2018