June 3, 2022
Day 52: Salzburg to Bischofshofen
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I was feeling increasing comfortable in Salzburg. In the hotel I could go from garage to coffee machine to breakfast room to our room fluidly and with even looking to where I was going. In the street, I knew the shops nearby, the hours of the Spar market, even the back way into the church cemetery. And for the continuation of our trip, all we had to do was to go to the Salzach and follow it south, right? And to Bischofshofen it should be a gradually rising straight shot. Right?
My theories began to fray slightly when we reached the Salzach, at the end of "our" street. We needed to then traverse the cross street to get onto the bridge. We always dismount at intersections like that, playing it like pedestrians rather than like cars. So Dodie went to hit the yellow "get pedestrian crossing signal" box on the nearby lamp post. These boxes have long puzzled us, because they don't seem to have any moving parts. We supposed them to be inductive. They do seem to make a satisfying "tick tick" when they are "doing something".
Now this time a distinguished looking, clearly local, man with good English chose to put us straight. He said the yellow boxes were for the benefit of blind people, and the tick tick was telling them what was going on. He kindly suggested we not attempt to monkey with the system, especially at the key intersection in all of Salzburg. Smooth functioning of the intersection, he said, depended on it keeping a regular rhythm.
Ok, we thanked him, and waited for the little green walk man symbol patiently. When we had crossed the bridge we again faced an intersection. But I had been thinking. And since the man was again standing beside us, I went over and said "If the yellow boxes are only indicators for blind people, how could we stupid tourists screw up the symphony of the intersection by touching them?" "Yes, you are right", he allowed.
That settled that Salzburg puzzle, but in fact the way we wanted to cross the street had no little man to debate about one way or the other. "We'll have to cross there, and then there, no, no, there is no way to get where we need to be, wtf", said I. This attracted the attention of another local, who instructed that we had to go the wrong way 1/4 block to access an underpass, and so be on our way. Oh!
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My smooth sailing along the Salzach theory fell apart soon as well. The trail left the river and headed up into the bush. And the Salzach went and merged with some other darn river, such that for a time I was not sure which we were following. The other one was nice and green and the Salzach turned out to be muddy brown, so for a time I was reluctant to accept that "my" river was going to be dirty looking like that.
The next thing, no doubt the big news for the day, was that this was not going to be a first day cake walk as the track warmed up for going through some real mountains. No, the real mountains were there, right now!
Dodie spent a lot of time trying to scope out which might be the Dachstein range, which was Birchtesgaden, and so forth. We never made a firm ID, even where we came to posters showing and naming the mountains around a town. It's tough. But we did agree, it was Wow!
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Hallein is a town based on salt, and is the location of the salt mines that brought wealth to this region, and the name Salzburg to Salzburg. Hallein was also the home of Franz Gruber who composed the tune for "Silent Night". The famous first performance was in Oberdorf, north of Salzburg, but Gruber was from Hallein. Consequently there is a Silent Night museum in town. Both the salt mine and the museum were slightly off route, causing us to give them a miss. Typical of us. But I think we did go in 2014 - I'll need to check!
Forest and path and amazing surrounding mountains continued, and this really was an unexpected spectacle!
We were "wow" ing along like that when we drew near to the town of Golling. Here is where Dodie, the girl that had doubts about being in condition to come into the mountains at all, suddenly saw a sign that said "Wasserfall", hung a right, and started pedaling straight up the side of a mountain.
Dodie was encouraged to keep climbing by signs touting (perhaps insincerely) how many metres to go. But we did arrive at a spot where lots of cyclists had gathered, and where we learned that there was a cost of 5 euros each to proceed to the falls. Best of all, a small herd of cows had also gathered with the cyclists. They were a mix of big and small, brown Swiss, and brown and white, and most wore bells.
In past days my brother Harold had emailed, expressing nostalgia for the sound of cow bells, and wondering if we were to pass again through cow country so I could capture some bells. With this in mind I pulled out my camera and filmed as some cows came and knocked over some bikes. They seem to like the salt on the bar handles. Another feature of "Hallein". One man did not take kindly to his bike being molested, and he chased the cow down the mountain. He later explained that he was a butcher, and would turn a cow like that into sausage right quick. As I type this, I'm not quite sure how much of that I have on film - we'll see. Meanwhile, Harold, stand by, I recorded some cow bell audio on my phone and will send to you!
Dodie intuition had paid off as usual, and the Falls were really worth seeing. The Golling Falls and the stream, new to us, have of course been known for hundreds of years. Many mills existed on the stream, taking advantage of the water power.
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2 years ago
Chuckle!!
If only I'd read the comment, I would have saved about 45 minutes of image searching!
Good job Andrea!
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The Golling Falls was a real high point, both for the water and for the cow antics, and we were feeling pretty high as we continued up the river.
We came to "Pass Lueg" and I said to Dodie, "Surely they don't mean Pass, as in Pass!, like mountain pass" and she replied "Well yeah, they do". And did they ever. Towering mountains appeared - like seriously close, and towering! We climbed a road between them, and also passed through several tunnels. The riding was on road and a bit scary, but we were fine.
Things came apart a fair bit when we finally came to a point where construction was causing a 15 minute alternating traffic situation. This was in a place where the valley was narrow, the mountains surrounding very high, and the road with no shoulder.
At first we lined up with the cars, but eventually slipped ahead to join the gaggle of cyclists at the front of the obstruction.
When the go ahead came, the cyclists headed off into the various bits of narrowed road and construction ahead. By and large they had to take the lane, much to the annoyance of the drivers behind, who had already lost up to 15 minutes of their precious schedules.
When the time finally came that we could relinquish the lane, they roared by, honking and shouting expletives out their windows. From this point, for quite a distance, we had a shoulder on the road and could be there as many gravel trucks continued to roar past.
Before hitting the pass, we had been looking for a shady bench at which to eat our sandwiches, but had had no luck. Now we were looking again, and finally found one before Werfen. I sat gratefully on the bench and had to admit that I was a little shaky. Dodie, however, chirped "I think we have been doing rather well today!"
Werfen, just ahead, was a rather pleasant town, with pizza restaurants and bakeries, and would have been great had I not already been patched up by some nice sandwiches. Werfen also has a schloss, which you can visit, and access via a funicular. We had a look at it, but had used too much time fighting our way through the pass that I could not believe had been put there!
I chose the vicinity of Werfen to admit to myself and to let Dodie know that my rear brake, repaired for the second time three days ago was again showing way too much travel at the lever before engaging. I began favouring the use of the front brake, and thinking that I would have to try fixing it myself, given some time and space.
We pulled in to Bischofshofen in fairly good order, and found our Pension, a tall and handsome looking building called the Tirolerwirt. "Wirt" means "host", I think.
Our room, of course, is on the top floor of the Pension - basically the fourth floor. I had been bragging that I am in great condition now and have been climbing all manner of stairs with no muscle twinges or heavy breathing. But on this hot day, dragging our many bags up and up had me hot and bothered. Still, this was a chance for me to look at that brake, so once our stuff was all up I dragged the bike from the garage and had a go at a procedure I had seen on Youtube. The guy in the video had warned that the fix would take time and patience. But after quite a bit of time, and sweating profusely, I had to admit that not only had I not succeeded but now the brake was totally buggered. The wheel would not move at all, until I just ripped the brake totally out of there. So now - deep in the mountains and no brakes. Also, religious holidays coming - Sunday and Monday!
I dragged myself up those darn four stories and did the only thing possible - took a shower. But wait, could there be a bike shop in town, even if our GPS had not spotted one up ahead on route? Yes! What time is it? - 5:30. Maybe still open! I charged down the four stories, grabbed my bike and sallied off into the town.
The man in bike shop Holzmann was not only still there, but he had a deep knowledge of my brake model. I explained that two other shops had already bled the system, but to no avail. "That because of the leak", he said, "Feel the oil?". Gack, he was right, the leak the others had denied, the leak that Dodie insisted had to be there, was there.
What's more, unbelievably, he was able to pull off the shelf a complete lever and brake assembly. Only the lever (master cylinder) was caput, he said, so he would break the set and just sell me the lever. He would install it now, but I could leave the bike and pick it up in the morning.
In fact I arranged to run back to the Pension and get Dodie's bike, so the man could check her brakes as well. These mountains, we could easily see, were not fooling around. So neither would we.
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What Gave Meaning to Life today? A bike shop where the mechanic might actually really understand my brakes.
Today's ride: 57 km (35 miles)
Total: 2,954 km (1,834 miles)
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