A bad nights kip is soon forgotten with the beautiful view from the tent. I try to do a timelapsed photo session of packing away the tent but the bike keeps falling over, it may be slighty flawed:)
As I'm packing away an energetic pensioner marches past with hiking poles in each hand, he doesnt seem bothered by me being here. No one ever does. Watch out for him in the background of one of the photos. I check out the deer and it's still as scary as last night, I shout out a scooby doo esque "yikes!!" Off to Saverne along the canal for my visit to the barbers. The path is again excellent and the views enchanting. As I reach habitation things are getting decidedly more German in appearance. The people, the houses, the smell of sausage and the pubs. When I reach Savern I'm pleasantly surprised by its delightfullness. Old timber framed buildings line the streets with the canal going through its very centre. I purchase a side stand for the bike here as a nod to Stevens buying a wrench. I then have a lovely dealing with the woman in the T.I. She agrees that my request for the oldest barbers in town is indeed the strangest question she has been asked all week. When I tell her of my quest and the fact I started in Liverpool she gets very excited. She says its the place she would most like to go in the world!!! She is an LFC fan and proclaims that Steven Gerrard is the best player in the world. Unfortunately I say that may have been true one day but perhaps it's time to concede that others may be heir to that crown now. When I show her my LFC lunchbox she is beside herself and goes out the back and comes back with her handbag that has an LFC pennant on it. Not to be outdone I get out my membership card and she tells me to put it away because she is jealous, then asks me to get it out again because she wants to see it. As if this isn't enough she speaks perfect English and goes to great efforts to find the best coiffures for me. Unfortunately quite a few are on vacances and there is no actual barbers, only hairdressers. I go to the one looking most cheap and cheerful. And order a cut. The young ladies have no idea what I'm on about but we work out between us I will have to wait 20 mins. As I'm waiting another guy comes in and he speaks English. When the hairdresser realises this she insists on asking every instruction from him on what sort of style I want. I keep apologising to the guy and explain that I'll show her in front of the mirror. A lovely hair wash and mini massage later I'm in front of the mirror demonstaring what I want with a comb. When she asks me what number clippers I want she says trois and I say oui. She is worried and goes to ask the the English speaking man. It transpires that the clipper numbers are mm and not grades as in England. Perhaps its the same but she says 3 is the lowest the clippers go and is worried it might be too short. Although I might go for the buzz cut on the sides at home, I decide that with the sunshine I'll leave it a bit longer. I had originally wanted the top to stay quite long and direct the required length, but by the end I'm looking like a twelve year old German boy with a beard. At home I'm very particular about my hair but as I've got a hat on most of time and its gonna be full of twigs, milk powder and slugs I'm not that bothered. From Savern more canal path to my next book destination: Melenhiem. I check out the old buildings and wine houses and enquire about the best way to Strasbourg. I'm given a good hint that although a bit longer, the cycle path is much easier and nicer route to go. As I leave the T.I. the storms start and before long I'm drenched. Earlier in the day I had taken shelter in a bush for shade. Now it's raining so hard its stinging my arms through my waterproof jacket. A lightning strike and thunder clap crash directly above my head and I nearly cycle off the path into a fence in fright, absoloutely the loudest thing I have ever experienced! Although not struck by lightening I'm very much in shock, a woman is standing on her patio looking up at the sky and I scream/cackle at her hystericlly, she gives a look that says I know what you mean and I continue in the rain trying to compose myself. I stop under a road bridge to make sure everything is water tight and a family are sheltering under the bridge too. I explain after 10 minutes of the hammering rain that it's ok as I have plenty of food and a stove. The rain does stop and off I go again on the fantastic cycle paths. They are basically roads for cyclists with directional lanes and give way signs that sometimes you have to obey at a road, sometimes the traffic has to stop for you. Come on England lets have some of this and people cycling for transport and not just for leisure! The journey from Savern to Strasbourg is 40km and the perfect way to commute. I enter Strasbourg late at about 6pm and want to hurry through to Germany and find a spot for the night. Strasbourg has other ideas and its people and architecture are so welcoming I slow the pace. After a bit of detective work at the T.I. (again super helpful) we manage to work out what the stone archway is that Stevens talks about. I leave the office in search of said arch and admire the Cathederal on the square. It really is something to behold, Gothic I think but don't quote me. After being helped by a few locals I find my arch and I'm so chuffed. To find an exact item that is mentioned in the book especially after the hairdressing experience is a real buzz. Exhilerated and feeling I've seen a good deal of the old city I head for the border. I have a backup campsite in Kuhl in Germany if things don't go according to plan. I'm nearly there when I stop to check the map and relaise I've forgotten to visit the railway station. Stevens remarks that it's possibly the best in all the world and I have to look it up on the map. It's totally the opposite direction and back were I have come from earlier. A Gonzo Historian's work is never easy, so back I go. Le Gare now has an impressive glass structure built out from the front of the original building and both are indeed magnificient. I stand under the glass admiring the station and try to imagine what Stevens must have thought. It's about 8pm now and sunset is in half an hour. I look round for a place to camp but cities being what they are, all the best places have been taken by people of a more homeless variety. I see a campsite sign and decide it has to be the way tonight. 9 Euros 50 for 1 person, bike and tent but best of all free wifi and it works from my tent. It's a great chance to catch up on a load of stuff, and my decision feels so much easier than the forced campsite rendezvous in Luneville.
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