[Sorry for the long break in updating this journal. It's been a distracting few weeks!]
After a long day and the necessity to finish off the wheat beer, needless to say I slept very well. The weather continued to behave itself throughout the night, and apart from some slight haziness (both in the weather and in my head) in the morning it promised to be another nice day.
I picked up the bread I'd ordered the day before - the campsite had a roster you could just add your name to, pick up the bread in the morning and then pay for it when you left - a really excellent service and a lot more straightforward than some sites I'd been to. Over my coffee and croissant breakfast I took some time to take stock and consider plans for the next few days.
Despite the sometime challenges of the weather, eight days in I'd had a good run of it: I was covering distance, getting through the passes, and the shops, restaurants and campsites that I was a bit worried about before arriving were operating and not hopelessly oversubscribed. As the crow flies, I'd covered about half the distance I planned to - since I had more than half my time left, and generally been taking the indirect scenic route up to this point, I figured I had plenty of flexibility for whatever adventures looked most appealing.
The route so far. The Grimming stands out even at this scale, and is ringed in red; the route through the valleys and over the passes so far is in red; my goal, the lowlands around Vienna and the Hungarian/Slovak border is ringed in purple; the Mürztal, the direct valley route in green; and the more adventurous route following the Salzatal in Blue. Hopefully this map gives some sense of how cleaved into valleys the country is, and where I have (and haven't) followed these natural routes
My ultimate goal had to be the vicinity of Vienna - and since this is where the Alps fall away and plains to the East form the border of Austria, Hungary and Slovakia, I figured this would make for comparatively easier cycling and I would have some leisure to explore this area. This was directly East of where I was now. In the first half of the tour I had made a pretty good attempt at striking a balance between following the cultivated valleys, and striking off into more mountainous terrain. From my days of planning the route, I knew I had a similar choice: the obvious crease in the topology leading to Vienna was the Mürztal, cleaving the country pretty much in two from Leoben all the way to vicinity of Vienna - or more adventurously, a sinuous route followed the Salza via Wildalpen, apparently directly through the mountains to the north.
Whichever way I picked would determine the type of riding I got for at least the next few days. But I didn't hesitate long: the sun was coming out, I felt good, and there were no problems with the bike or kit. I settled on the Salzatal route and resolved to make the best of it while conditions were so good.
I packed up, and visited reception to settle up my bill (and retrieve my cheese from the refrigerator) - €13 or so, including bread, so very good value. I chatted to the very jolly and friendly Dutch proprietor on reception, the partner of the guy who had got me settled in the afternoon before - as I fumbled to separate my euro notes from the soggy sterling I still was carrying around, she joked "no, they don't want to be separated! Don't leave!". This lead to a discussion of Brexit - which, as I'm finding more and more often on the continent, generally takes the form of mystified sympathy. It's difficult to exaggerate the degree of goodwill that (often inexplicably) remains towards the British, and the continued puzzlement at what on earth we think we're going to achieve. "Actually, we have to thank you" she continued - as spectators to the mess the UK is making for itself, eurosceptic voices have been sheepishly quiet all over the continent.
Rather lost in thought about all this I set off. Whatever my ultimate route, the first stage was to continue round the Grimming into the Enns valley, which I could follow to Liezen, a major junction linking the valleys between Linz, Graz, and Salzburg. This stage was in a frustrating gap between my detailed maps, and I needed to fall back onto my whole-Austria 1:400K overview, and I didn't expect a huge amount from this stretch.
But the cycleway was clearly signed along very quiet back roads through sleepy and picturesque villages. The mountain backdrop was impressive, traffic was non-existent, and children waved hello to me as I passed through the small settlements.
On the outskirts of Bad Mittendorf are newly developed flats, with really interesting architecture reflecting traditional steep-roofed alpine houses. I wish we had this kind of inventiveness in our suburbs!
Some farmers were filling up this tanker at the stream, and we had to wait for them to finish. One of them said something jolly to me as I passed (at least I assume it was jolly - it could have been "look at this chump").
At Pürgg, the route meets the Enns, and the valley broadens out significantly. The small town itself and is fringed with busy highways and slightly confusing waterways. I navigated myself around the outskirts of town, taking several wrong turns and ending up at the side of the river - but eventually picking up the cycleway that continued east, following the Enns towards Liezen.
The rather boxy fortress at Pürgg almost looks like a prison
Reaching the Enns meant I was out of the terra incognita and onto my third and final detailed map, Lower Austria. Amusingly, this was translated as "Inferior Austria" on the cover.
I was truly back in the populated valleys now - the next 10km would follow the Enns to Liezen and the main Linz-Graz highway. I intended to cross this stretch as quickly as possible, not expecting much in the way of scenery, and continue East (still following the Enns) towards Admont. I picked up the Enns radweg now, which was very straightforward to follow and allowed me to avoid the road, crossing and re-crossing it near Wörschbach.
Near Liezen I approached the E57/A9 highway, the main route between Linz and Graz. It was strange after the last couple of days to hear the roar of the traffic and to be funneled alongside the concreted expanses of the elaborate highway junction filling the valley. It felt like being back in the Rhine valley and navigating around the autobahns - though including the excellent cycleways that kept me clear of highways and allowed me to pick up the minor road 115 to Admont.
Back in the land of the broad, flat, cultivated valley - albeit ringed with impressive mountains
I had to stop here to sort out my shoelaces and have a "comfort" break. Fortunately just missed doing this exactly as a walker with dog appeared alongside the river. Not in the middle of nowhere anymore!
I was away from the highway, the sun came out intensively, and before long I could turn off even the quiet B road to follow the signed route into the village of Ardning. With my not particularly early start it was near lunch time, and seeing a perfectly positioned bench - I've learnt never to pass these up - I stopped for lunch.
I had a lot of supplies after stocking up the night before, and made something of a feast of it. Several passersby smiled and waved hello - I was glad to see I wasn't too scary a sight yet!
The next stage to Admont was great - just mellow, quiet Alpine valley riding. I was on minor roads, but hardly any traffic, and the mountains glowed in the sunshine.
I was determined to enjoy it, as after Admont I knew I'd be funneled onto the only road heading up the narrow gorge of the Enns through the Gesause. It didn't look frighteningly busy, but I figured there would be enough traffic to make it stressful and prevent me properly appreciating the scenery.
I flew through Admont itself - a very neat and attractive resort, by the looks of things - and left the small town via a tidy park by the river. After some weaving on minor roads, I picked up a lovely back road - with signs indicating heavy trucks should stay off - that took me back over the river and joined the main road up the gorge.
Terrific easy cycling along the valley of the Enns
Recrossing the Enns on a traditional wooden bridge. It looked so good I didn't even have any trepidation about the rather imposing mountains and the single road that plied through them (yet)
Emerging onto the main road, I pulled up along one side and took stock. I knew there was no other practical way through the mountains, and I had about 18km before reaching the junction point of Hieflau. There was considerable traffic - not heavy, but at least five cars a minute. The road immediately looked narrow and windy - and there was no shoulder to speak of.
But I was fairly dedicated to working my way to the Salzatal. Trusting the good conditions and the sensible Austrian driver, I steeled myself and set off.
So I was prepared for a challenging ride. What I wasn't prepared for was how much of a dramatic spectacle the Gesause road would be. Almost immediately we were in a narrow gorge, high rock walls on one side and a precipitous drop down to the Enns on the other. Peaks towered above, and glistened in the clear air.
The road narrowed from two lanes to a single, and I sped along keeping pace with the traffic as it cautiously worked its way around the tight turns. Every bend evinced a "whoa!" from me - as exciting as this was, trying to wield the camera simultaneously felt like a whole new level of danger (and it was difficult to stop), so my photos are a little sparse/wobbly. Hopefully they give a sense of this spectacular route, though.
Almost immediately I was into the gorge and tight up against the rock wall. Obviously this is a quiet moment I could get the camera out - but there was significant traffic and large trucks going down here...
Soon, the road started to disappear into tunnels, several hundred metres long. Coming from the bright daylight and with no lighting or shoulder inside, I was extremely not keen to cycle through. Fortunately the first few had dedicated bike bypasses, apparently following the old course of the road high above the river.
The sign didn't have to tell me twice - I took the cycleway to the left
After Gsatterboden the road climbed back again, high above the river. Another big tunnel was coming up, but to my dismay there was no sign indicating a way to avoid it for bikes. The reason soon became clear: the original way, which had clearly been there a long time, was blocked off. Clearly it had been shut - presumably due to rockfall or similar.
Cursing, I stood by the tunnel entrance and weighed up my options. I really didn't like the look of the tunnel - dark, fast, with no shoulder and a bend in the middle which meant I couldn't even see daylight at the end. I figured I'd investigate the closed track, and turn back the moment it looked obviously unsafe.
The path avoiding the tunnel, and obviously part of the original road, blocked off by this low concrete block. I lifted the Shift over it, and carefully proceeded on foot...
...and it was fine, if a little eerie. There was nowhere the path itself was crumbling - the main danger seemed to be from rock falls, as you can see the fragments of shattered rocks. The very last stretch let across a wooden bridge over the precipice - I crossed this as quickly as I could, but fortunately it was perfectly stable.
It was an exhilarating ride, but I was still glad to see the signs welcoming me to Hieflau. This turned out to be a rather strange settlement, little more than a rail and road crossroads in the middle of the mountains. The only commercial establishment I could see was a rather threadbare grocery shop - and I elected to press on to Mooslandl. I had scoped out and had on good authority that the campsite was operating - and given I would have covered more than 90km already, was keen to secure a spot (it certainly didn't look like there were many other options).
Turning north to continue to follow the Enns, I was out Hieflau very quickly. A rather tough last kilometre of climbing away from the river, and the valley opened up into a wide, high plateau. Shunning an intriguing looking "short cut" off the main road (but which apparent involved 15% gradients), I pressed on and quickly saw the broad turn to the B25, the Salza, Mooslandl and (thankfully!) a signed campsite.
Hieflau. This is pretty much all there is to it - though apparently it does have a station. The signed campsite here is all the way back the way I'd came in Johnsbach.
The campsite was big open field, nice and informal with no marked places and plenty of space. It was run by the hotel opposite - I wheeled over, but a sign indicated campers should take a place and check in later. I rather lazily wheeled around the site, and then figuring it would be a calm night, just set up in the middle of the field away from onlookers and near a small tree I could lean the Shift against.
Instead of putting the tent up straight away - for once it was now perfectly dry and didn't seen any drying out! - I instead had my eye on something else. Because the campsite was right next to a bathing lake, and the sun was still beaming down. I gathered up my towel and checked it out.
It was idyllic! The greenish water it reflected the mountains ringing us on all sides, breaking up with the splashing of the couple of families and the mini jet d'eau. Going to a vending machine, I thought I'd get myself a coke - and then realised, seeing the palette next to it accepting empties, that in fact this was a beer vending machine. I was beginning to like this place. I took my €3 Gossler beer, took off my salty clothes, and gratefully plunged into the water. Then lay basking on the grass, slowly drying off, sipping beer and studying the map. If only all touring days could end this way!
Camping at Mooslandl. A fairly informal place, but a really great location.
Once I'd dried off and the air started to cool, I headed to the showers and got myself presentable, and then swung back by the hotel. It was actually surprisingly formal inside, but the guy on reception was very helpful and wished me a good stay as he took my €10 for the night. Then I lumbered, with stiff legs, back to my spot and took my time putting the tent up (something I was slightly hampered in doing by the camp cat, which kept disappearing under the fly sheet and on one occasion got in the tent. I was pretty amused by this, until I realised little feline claws might punch holes in the material - after which I evicted her pretty quick).
I dimly wondered what I was going to do for dinner. Other than the hotel dining room - which looked a bit more formal and expensive than I preferred - the only other place that appeared on my map seemed to intersect with the village petrol station. Since the reviews said it was "the place to be seen in town!" I thought I'd check it out.
I was a bit sceptical, but to my amazement it did turn out to be a combination petrol station/bar/bistro. I didn't quite want to eat yet, but it was actually a really nice place to sit and drink and watch the sun go down over the mountains. Clearly it was something of a gathering place for the locals - they chatted as they filled their cars up, and then went to get a drink inside and chatted there too. Certainly it's the most pleasant service station forecourt I've ever spent time in.
The local watering hole is also the village petrol station. It's actually really nice!
Sitting outside on the forecourt, having a drink and watching a spectacular sunset, while people-watching the locals come and go. Not a bad way to end the day!
I wondered back down to my campsite and made a fairly basic, but satisfactory, meal of pasta. A surprising number of cars turned up as the evening closed in, with a big Czech contingent setting up next to me - incredibly courteously and quietly, I didn't head anything from them all night.
One last twist. I turned in early, but at midnight or so was rather irked to hear booming music over the site. It got louder and louder, and eventually my curiosity (and annoyance) got the better of me. To my surprise, the noise wasn't coming from some fellow campers, but was coming from over the lake. Getting closer, I could see figures moving in the darkness - dancing? - in the woodland on the far shore.
It was pretty disconcerting. I could only imagine it was an (illegal, given the virus restrictions) Austrian rave. I thought about wondering up to the hotel to let them know, but it turned out to be closed up. So I shrugged and returned to the tent.
And you know what? Half an hour later it all quietened down. I don't know if they were broken up or - as I like to think happened - they'd just had enough and that was late enough in rural Austria. Anyway, I slept well after that!
Today's ride: 93 km (58 miles) Total: 568 km (353 miles)
