How Many Austrian Men Does It Take To Help Brooke and Lauren Make It Down the Danube?

Answer: 3

So Sunday morning Brooke and I had planned to take a little bike excursion down the Danube. Brooke has done this twice before: once with a group from the Flow House and once with her parents, so we knew the basic logistics of the trip. One thing we did not take into account: absolutely everything going wrong. Two things to keep in mind as you read: 1) Brooke and I had tickets to see a production of "Romeo and Juliet" at the Burgtheatre at 7pm, and 2) pretty much everyone Brooke knows in Austria was out of town for the long weekend (the family, Joe, Joe's aunt).

The general plan was to drive to the Westbanhof station in Vienna (about 45 minutes from the house) and from there take a train to Melk, a small town west of Vienna, then ride our bikes along the Danube north/east as it heads back toward Vienna (see picture I took using GoogleMaps). Brooke would ride her new and quite spiffy road bike and I would borrow the father's mountain bike. We would stop for lunch at a heurigen somewhere along the route, and then make the 5pm train back to Vienna from the Krems station. Seems pretty simple, right? Wrong!

So although we pumped up the tires before leaving the house, we neglected to fully check out the father's bike, which ended up being the source of pretty much all of our woes (but not quite all!). We were running a little late in the morning, but managed to make it to Westbanhof in time to make our 9am train. The trip to Melk took a little over an hour, but that too was uneventful. They also had these nifty little plastic ties to secure your bike -- why hasn't anyone in France thought of this?

When we arrived in Melk it was chilly, but with a few rays of sunshine! Hooray! Melk is a really cute little town with an enormous baroque-style abbey which (Wikipedia tells me) is one of the world's most famous monastic sites. Brooke informed me that you have to take a 2-hour tour to see the mangificent frescoes and other decorations inside, so unfortunately we didn't have time for that. At the Melk train station we tried to adjust my bike seat (the father isn't exceptionally tall, but he is taller than I am) and realized that the bolt securing the seat height was stripped. Uh oh. We had the right tools, but they were useless with the stripped bolt. So Brooke suggested we walk down to one of the places which rents bikes, because they might have more tools. So we moseyed on down to the trail, only to find that all of the rental places were closed (of course, it was a Sunday). So, new plan: we headed to the BP gas station nearby. They did have a giant multipurpose tool (like a Swiss Army Knife on steriods), but none of those helped either. Brooke and I were starting to wonder if we were going to need some brute strength to overcome the stripped bolt. Our instinct was to ask the gas station attendant, but she didn't look any stronger than we are. So, when a relatively-fit looking man walked by (heading into the station to pay), we way-layed him. Luckily he both spoke English and was a cyclist, and was willing to help. He told us he didn't have any tools with him, but if we would wait he would run home and grab his toolbox. We felt badly for inconveniencing him, but he insisted and sped off. He returned 5 minutes later with an enormous tool box, and with the help of an L-wrench and a rubber mallet, was able to adjust the seat. Success!! We thanked him profusely, offered to buy him a beer (which he declined, it was only 10:30am at this point), and he drove off.

It turns out our "Mission Accomplished" came too soon. I hopped on the bike, only to discover that the pedals spun around and around without any pressure; the bike was in the highest gear. So I tugged at the gear shift. Nothing. Uh oh. Brooke hopped on to give it a shot. Nothing. Upon closer inspection, it appeared that not only were the gears disconnected (shifting produced absolutely no result), but the derailer was also nonfunctioning. It wouldn't click into place, so even if we manually set the chain to a lower gear, the derailer would automatically force it back to the highest. In that condition, the bike was inoperable. So, the thinking caps came on. Eventually we wadded up a bunch of paper-toweling from the dispenser near the gas pumps and jammed it inbetween the bike frame and the derailer. Probably not the most technical solution, but, miraculously, it worked! Now the bike was in a medium gear, still too low to move at a quick clip, but ride-able. Determined not to miss this experience, I hopped on and we set off.

Pedaling turned out to be harder than I expected. Although we had inflated both tires that morning, the back tire of my bike was already low and that created a certain amount of bounce with each pedal stroke. The bike frame itself was actually too large for me, and in order to reach the handle bars I had to lock out my elbows. But I had a more-or-less functioning bicycle, so I was game.

The scenery itself was absolutely gorgeous! The sun kept peeking out from behind the clouds, giving us really pretty views of the river itself and the hills on each side. The trees were at the zenith of their autumnal colors and the path wound through some cute little towns and vineyards. There were lots of other people on the path, but not so many that it felt crowded. Since we got sort of a late start, we stopped for lunch after only an hour or so of riding. The heurigen was in a tiny town called Aggsbach-Dorf and when we entered around 2pm we were the only patrons. We decided to order weiner schnitzel and cordon bleu and split them both -- an excellent choice because I ordered the weiner schnitzel but preferred the latter. Our server asked if we wanted fries or salad (in German, he didn't really speak English) and when Brooke asked for one of each I was excited for some leafy greens. It turns out that whenever salad is advertised in conjunction with weiner schnitzel, they mean potato salad: No leafy greens for us! Even if it was gloriously unhealthy, the food was absolutely delicious. Which made what happened next even more embarrassing...

When our server brought us the bill I offered to pay with my French debit card. No luck, they don't take cards. Brooke anticipated this and so we brought cash... but it turned out not enough. There was an extra fee to bring the bikes on the train, which we paid with cash when the conductor came by to check our tickets. So while 30 euro would have been plenty to cover our bill (22.50 euro), 20 euro was most definitely not enough. Brooke asked where the bank-o-mat could be found. "Melk." Yup, the nearest ATM was back in the town we had just come from, an hour's ride. So, with very plaintive and sheepish looks, we asked for the server's name (the restaurant address was on the receipt) and promised to mail him the rest (plus, of course, a bonus for the trouble). He was definitely irked, but he let us leave (which makes him Austrian man #2).


So, back in the saddle, Brooke and I were both feeling chagrined. We continue riding along, marveling at the scenery, and laughing about how many things had gone wrong.

After another hour or so I was really struggling with the bike. I was trying to tough it out but Brooke insisted on switching (she is shorter than I am, so I was sure it would be even more difficult for her). We had only gone another 10 or 15 minutes when Brooke stopped abruptly. The rear tire, already low, was entirely deflated. Brooke, afraid of damaging the wheel, hopped off and we continued along the trail, on foot. We knew that it was still another 15km (about 9.3 miles) to Krems. At this point it was about 4pm and because of the time change (western Europe did Daylight Savings Time last Saturday), the light was already fading. Based on the time it would take to run a 5K, Brooke and I estimated it would take us upwards of an hour and a half to walk all the way to Krems. We're both in decent shape, and I know we could have done it, but I was worried both that it was getting dark (although the path is right by the road and there are towns every 2km or so) and that if we didn't get to Krems by 5pm there might not be more trains back to Vienna. We were hopeful that we'd come across a smaller town with a train station where we could catch a train before we had to walk all the way there, and someone we asked led us to believe there was just such a town a few km ahead.

We had been walking for probably 25 minutes when another cyclist passed us, stopped, and circled back. He asked us if something was wrong and offered us his spare tire. Unfortunately it was for a road bike, so it wouldn't do my bike any good. We told him about our predicament and he expressed some skepticism about the plan of walking all the way to Krems. He told us he had another 45 minutes left for his ride, but that afterward he could pick us up in his car and drop us off at the Krems train station on his way to check out an apartment in Vienna. So here was the dilemna: accept this gracious offer from a stranger (who seemed nice enough, but I guess the bad ones don't usually care around signs) or politely decline and walk all the way to Krems, which could be more or less dangerous. After some careful consideration, we went with option A. The man (late 20s, silly-looking facile hair but otherwise quite pleasant, named Christian) told us he would meet us along the route between that point and Krems, by a ferry stop. We exchanged phone numbers and set off. Before he left though, Christian informed us that unfortunately he only had room in his car for 2 people and 1 bike or 2 bikes and 1 person but not both. He left it to us to figure out how we wanted to arrange it.

So this left us with another set of choices: Brooke could ride her functioning bike to Krems and be there by the time Christian dropped me and the broken bike off at the station. That would mean Brooke and I wouldn't have to come back for the second bike. But it would also mean leaving the cell phone with me, so I could get in touch with Christian, and if something happened to Brooke along the route she would have no way to contact me (or vice versa). In the end, we decided to stick together and leave the broken mountain bike. Too many things had gone wrong already to leave this one to fate. So Brooke and I waited on this cute little picnic bench, and an hour later Christian showed up, driving exactly the same car as the first guy who helped us at the gas station (a silver BMW station wagon, 3-series size but without any labels so I'm not sure). We had already locked the broken bike to a fence and so we loaded Brooke's bike into the back. 15 minutes later Christian was dropping us off at the Krems train station and we were thanking him profusely (Austrian man #3). We had missed the 5pom train and none of the later trains going to Vienna were going to Westbanhof. So we took the next one to Vienna, then took a few different metro lines to get back to the car. We got some cash from an ATM and promptly got back on the road, headed to Krems to pick up the bike. After that, we drove a little further to the heurigen and left our receipt with a note and 10 euros stuck inside the front door (it was closed, and would be closed Monday and Tuesday). Then, finally, we headed home. We had already missed the play, of course, but I was happy just to get back in one piece (and with both bikes!) We got back to the house at 10:30pm, more than 13 hours after we departed. What an adventure! Brooke and I were both very grateful for those 3 Austrians who helped us, we most definitely couldn't have done it without them!