my taunus bikepacking

9 a.m., Day 4 of Taunus Bikepacking
11 kilometers on the odometer – not exactly dramatic… if it weren’t for the five hours that have already passed.
Welcome to the Taunus, where every vertical meter feels like it should come with at least half an Alpine pass badge.

The day starts sluggishly: a minor mechanical for Stephan (who I keep bumping into – we seem to share a common speed setting). Naturally, you don’t just ride past someone in a situation like that – race or not, team spirit beats time splits.
Then comes the climb to Pferdskopf – an absolute beast. Whoever thought putting a checkpoint up there was a good idea must have had a trail running event in mind, not bikepacking.
Twenty floors of climbing (give or take), buckets of sweat, dust in every pore, and wheezing like an old accordion. But hey – at the top: a view that could make postcards jealous.

Next stop: Rewe in Schmitten – because calories aren’t optional.
Then a peaceful breakfast at the bakery. Hydration? Check. Caffeine? Double check. You really don’t want to roll into the next climb undercaffeinated.
Cue the singletrack trail right after – full of roots and rocks and designed to bring progress to a dramatic standstill. Intentional? Sadistic? Jury’s still out.

And then… the heat. That glorious kind of summer heat where every hill turns into a personal sauna. The headwind? Purely symbolic. My greatest fantasy? A kiddie pool and a cold drink.

The goal for today? Ambitious.
The reality? …needs work.

Will I make it to the finisher party by Saturday night?

Mathematically: Tough.
Emotionally: Still hopeful.
Realistically: Only with a strong flow, zero mechanicals, and a healthy dose of determination (plus maybe a quick prayer to the bikepacking gods).

Conclusion:
I may not be fast – but I’m riding epically.
A personal best might not be in the cards, but I’ll arrive at the finisher party with stories, sweat, and a proper dose of Taunus grit in my luggage.

Throughout Day 4, I’ll ask myself (more than once) whether Saturday evening is still a realistic finish line.

But before we get to those stories, here’s the video:
🎥The long version (20 min), the short one for the time-crunched (11 min), and a few details about the race

Now, let’s dive into the full story… right from the beginning.

Day 1

180 km / 3,800 m elevation
Elapsed time: approx. 15 hours

Taunus Tango in Three Acts: Rain, Mud, Soup

The morning kicks off with a true mood-killer: rain. Nothing dramatic, but persistent enough to make you doubt your life choices.
The first big decision of the day: which jacket? A question I probably annoyed half the breakfast table with. After an epic internal debate, I go with the heavier windbreaker—naturally prompting the rain to immediately disappear. Timing: questionable. Tactics: flawless. At least I was emotionally prepared.

By the time I roll out at 8:20, there’s that special kind of drizzle that soaks… everything. Clothes, morale, and most of all: the bike, which transforms into a mobile ecosystem within an hour. But hey—soon the rain stops! The mud, however, is here to stay. And it gets everywhere.

Soon I’m overtaken by a whole string of riders, clearly pumped and pushing watts. I stay calm. It’s a long game. Later on, I’ll reel some of them back in. This is bikepacking, not a sprint.

The trails? Slippery, muddy, occasionally submerged.
Jesko (our route designer) must’ve drafted the route backwards on a unicycle – it’s about 80% singletrack, 20% sweat, and 100% effort.

Between sketchy forest paths, wet roots, and tired legs, there are moments of real Taunus beauty. Panoramic views, golden light through green canopies, endless ups and downs. The kind of scenery you can get lost in – literally and mentally. (Yes, I miss a few turns. GPX in hand, brain elsewhere.)

Some distraction comes in the form of charming half-timbered towns—straight out of a storybook. Narrow alleys, balconies bursting with flowers, cobbled streets. I admire briefly, then move on.
Because these postcard moments, in places like Kronberg, Eppstein or Idstein, are interspersed with loooong forest and field segments that stretch on like old chewing gum.

And then there are the climbs. Brutal inclines up to places like Kapellenberg, the Kaisertempel, and other scenic points. But as steep as they are, I don’t really curse – each one rewards you with a view, a moment, a small victory. They’re tough but never pointless.

Less glorious: my Garmin showing the route, while I… don’t look. Classic mistake. Wrong turn. Backtrack. Curse. Laugh. Move on.

Sunday Civilization – or: Bikepacker Meets the Upscale Brunch Crowd

It’s Sunday. The Taunus is closed.
Bakeries are asleep, gas stations dreaming. My stomach, however, is wide awake and very clear in its messaging: “Food. Now. Please.”

Salvation appears in the form of Hubertushütte – a cozy little restaurant, rising out of the mist like a mirage. I stop abruptly, lean my mud-caked bike gently against a wall, and try to appear non-threatening. With mud on every surface and bags hanging off every angle, I look like a lost traveler from a post-apocalyptic film set.

The guests? Dressed nicely, sipping white wine.
A child whispers: “Mommy, did she sleep in the mud?”
Mom chooses not to reply.

Then: the waitress. One glance. “You can’t come in like this.”
Before I can take a single step toward the sacred patio area, I’m directed to a nearby dog-watering station: “You’ll need to clean yourself up a bit first.”

Fair enough. I’m just grateful she didn’t call pest control.

I wash. Face, arms, vague outlines of knees, shoes. Then, cautiously, I return.

And yes—I get it. The asparagus cream soup.
With extra bread, probably in hopes that I’ll eat fast and leave faster.
Add a Coke and a cappuccino (odd combo, I know) and it feels borderline ceremonial.

Afterwards, I freshen up in the restroom. Well, sort of. At least the major mud islands are gone. My hair? Let’s call it “natural.”

Later I attempt to de-mud the bike at a public fountain. Mixed results: I now resemble a person with ambition. The bike still belongs in the “Mud Art of the Year” competition. Visual improvement: moderate. Technical improvement: none. Chain oil to the rescue—later.

Still, It’s Beautiful

The Taunus delivers. Up, down, up, down – one moment it’s “wow!”, the next it’s “ugh!”.
But amid the mud and struggle, there are constant flashes of: “Yes. This is why I’m here.”

Day 1 goal: definitely achieved.
And then… Trail Magic at the Michelbach airfield.

180 kilometers, 3,800 meters of elevation – not bad for a day’s work.

As night falls, I roll in with a small group to Flugplatz Michelbach.
What we find is almost too good to be true: official Trail Magic. Open for all riders.

Bratwurst, venison salami, fairy lights – and that priceless feeling of being welcome.
I manage to score half a sausage (it’s late, and Andreas and his crew are already winding down). Totally fine. I’m clearly in the category: “Latecomer with a crust.”

Night in the Hangar

The sleeping spot is unique: a hangar, right next to a historic plane.
Sleep, however, is an overstatement.

The soundscape is… let’s say: vibrant. First, the rustling of bivvy bags. Then, snoring – building in layers like a symphony. My earplugs give up early. Probably on purpose.

By morning, the hangar stirs.
Whispers, zippers, shoe shuffles, the metallic clinks of stoves and mugs – the bikepacking world awakens.
So do I.

And then: 5 a.m. breakfast, complete with fresh pastries and hot coffee – served by Andreas and his crew with smiles, as if they hadn’t just slept three hours max. Legends.

Day 2
153 km / 3100 m elevation
Elapsed time: approx. 16h

Wolf country, tools, and vineyards – Taunus, you beast.

And so I roll out. Into the early, chilly day.
Tired legs, warm coffee in my belly – and in my mind the question:
What will this day bring? One thing’s for sure – new stories.

The first climb is done. After Michelbach, a brief breath of civilization on asphalt – but then: a castle ruin looms up to the left.

A bad omen. Rightly so: a ramp with over 20% gradient awaits – Hohenstein. I pedal up. At the top, I meet Stefan for the first time.
“Did you ride up that too?” I ask in heroic pose.
“Nope,” he says dryly. “I still need my legs.”
Oof. That one hits.
I sink a bit into my own sweat. A small ego deflater – but a big realization: overestimating yourself doesn’t make the pedaling easier; I check in with my body… is that a twinge in my right knee?

After Bad Schwalbach it gets lonely. A quiet break in the Wisper Valley. Solitude, bread, a bit of self-pity. A place that feels almost safe – until the next day I learn this is exactly where the only wolf pack in the Taunus lives.
Luckily, it’s summer – nature’s buffet is plentiful, and apparently I’m not on the menu. Wolves seem to prefer something other than tired cyclists with cheese sandwiches.

The day before, slippery singletracks, soggy forest floors, and brutal steep sections had already taught me to respect the Taunus.

Now I’m on my way to Nastätten – supermarket stop! And what a stop: kefir and strawberry cake. Re-energized, I press on toward CP1. A few more kilometers and a quarter of the route is ticked off.

Although… what does „route“ even mean?
A 1000-kilometer loop across a 75 x 35 km area – I constantly feel like I’m riding in circles. You approach towns, drift away, only to circle back again. I suspect route planner Jesko wanted to make sure we memorize every valley in the Taunus.

Then – a random glance into the WhatsApp group.
Markus, who I know from the Race Around Rwanda, posts: his toolbox is missing.
A little later, I turn off the tarmac onto gravel, and there it is, sticking out of the grass. Slam the brakes. Backtrack.
There it is – at least a kilo heavy. I adopt the dusty toolbox and carry it in my already bursting bag. Over the next hills. For Markus.

At least I don’t have to carry it all the way up to the checkpoint. And I have no idea yet: this won’t be my last “add-on” in this race. (By the way, Markus, if you’re reading this, I’m still waiting for that promised aperitif… laughs)

Slalom, scrapes, and a quarter conquered

A forest road drags upward – and of course, this section is two-way. So, hug the right. In a curve, a fellow rider comes flying toward me – fast. Only a sharp swerve saves us from a dramatic double-K.O. What a shot that would’ve been for Gosia, the Taunus-Bikepacking photographer!

And just for good measure: a car parked right at a key turn. I miss it. Climb further uphill. Naturally. Bonus elevation, all selfless.
When I realize the mistake, the extra effort is already burned into my legs.

Then: singletrack. Brakes squeal, nettles sting, brambles scratch – I collect more welts and scrapes for my growing collection. A fallen tree demands a bit of acrobatics – this trail pulls no punches.
Anyone who thought CP1 was a casual milestone underestimated the Taunus.

But then – it’s done: CP1, hidden somewhere near a bench.
CP1 – alive, loud, and somehow cozy around the “Mehrholzblick” bench.
Tech talk, laughter, a breath of relief in the air.
Gosia (@bite.of.me) captures it all – even the prized stamp. Thank you for the photos!

Then down the trail again: nettles, thorns, scratches, welts. I clamber over the tree and curse. It won’t be the last.

Just when you start to feel like a hero („a quarter done!“), reality hits: two proper mountains still lie ahead before Rüdesheim on the Rhine – where I had once naively planned to sleep.

But hey – I’m still awake. And still going.

And the truth will only deepen in the coming days: in the Taunus, 100 meters of climbing feel like 1000 back home – unpaved, steep, blazing hot. As soon as the sun breaks through, it gets sweltering.

The first mountain starts like a sledgehammer, then turns gentler. Forest. Millions of pink foxgloves lining the trail – almost romantic.
The gravel descent demands full concentration. At the bottom, I’m hit by fatigue.
Power nap on a bench – failed, too hot.
Then salvation in the form of a bakery: streusel cake and a double-sugar latte macchiato, as earned as a stage win.

The descent through the vineyards of the Rheingau is dreamy.
But the next climb – Kalte Herberge (literally “Cold Hostel” – though it feels anything but cold) – already looks brutal in the elevation profile.

In Kiedrich, some riders are lounging – including Markus. They wave. I keep going. Now I understand: they were stalling, delaying the inevitable climb to Kalte Herberge. I just want it behind me.

And my gut feeling was right: after Kloster Eberbach, it’s a relentless 17%+ gradient, for several kilometers. The road shoots straight up and disappears into the horizon.

It flattens – I celebrate. Too soon. The GPS yells at me – wrong turn.
Back up! A narrow, steep path. I push. All the way to the top.

And it really is: in the golden evening light, the vineyard climbs feel gentler. The views are a reward – castle ruins, the glittering Rhine, the Niederwald Monument.

Then finally – a real descent, down to the Rhine.
REWE (supermarket) still open – I go all in: kefir, strawberries, pineapple, a veggie bowl, plus latte macchiato and rice pudding for breakfast. Tomorrow’s bakery stop is still 30 kilometers away.
Outside, I meet Dani and Max.

We eat on the pavement like picnic punks.
I brag a bit about my route knowledge: “The grill spot is easy to reach.” Everyone’s sold.

I reach the grill area at dusk (it’s almost 10 p.m.) – Max and Stephan are already setting up camp. I pitch my tent nearby. The ground is torn up – wild boars probably had their dinner here. I hope they’ve clocked out for the night.

Day 3
161 km / 3,200 m elevation gain
Elapsed time: approx. 17 hours

Stage Report – With Wild Boar Panic and Jelly Candy Magic

The night? Not exactly a wellness retreat. Without my evening reading ritual, I can hardly slip into sleep mode – how can the mind rest when it’s stuck on page 200? Instead, I lie awake, listening to every sound that might come from wild boars breakdancing around my tent – probably with my cycling shoes in their mouths. Nightmare scenario: me, on the bike, in flip-flops.

The birds wake me up even before my alarm. I pack up my little house, eat my traditional rice pudding breakfast (rice with character!), and take almost an hour to get ready – a world record in relaxed fiddling. Then it’s off, together with Stephan.

First, a descent to Assmannshausen on the Rhine – lovely! Then straight back uphill – less lovely. But chatting makes the steep climb pass quicker. 12°C and fresh morning air – practically screaming for a bakery stop. Along the way, I find a pair of gloves on the trail. Apparently, I’m destined to carry other people’s stuff. The mystery is solved at the bakery: they belong to Markus, the guy who built his bike frame himself and later spends time fiddling with his eccentric tires.

My knees are complaining – clearly not fans of steep gravel climbs and bumpy singletrack. I ride the descents with the caution of a cat that just saw a cucumber’s shadow. Two riders have crashed in recent days – Guy shredded his shirt, pants, and skin (the latter should heal; the first two are beyond hope). Manfred is in the hospital. Derailleur hanger gone, motivation still there, but he’ll likely have to scratch. So: caution, caution!

Lots of steep, lots of wild, not a lot of speed. I wanted to reach the next checkpoint today. Instead: 5.5 hours for 50 km. Then – suddenly, deep in the woods – trail magic! A beer table with tasty treats and drinks, set up by @hey.hannanah’s mom. Honestly: the jelly candies were the real energy boosters of the day.

But still, it just isn’t going smoothly. Another climb, then a muddy stream valley near Sauerthal – overgrown, like riding through green pudding. I miss the trail entrance three times. This can’t be the way? Motivation? Probably missed the last turn-off. I try to turn on my GoPro while riding – almost wipe out. Lesson learned: multitasking is a myth.

Just before Lorch – salvation: a Rewe supermarket! A few other riders gather there, we share our woes and drink – me, kefir – to the harsh reality. Then a steep climb through the vineyards – in this heat, a mix of sauna and slog. Three hills up, three down again – same castle across the river as this morning – before the three hills. Sure, we could’ve taken the ferry or followed the river path… but where’s the drama in that?

Almost 500 meters of climbing in the midday heat – shade is a luxury they don’t deliver out here. Mediterranean vibes. Then: fields, forests, grain as far as the eye can see. Another Rewe stop – pineapple, kefir, and two cucumbers (my gourmet moment). Ahead: 70 km of solitude until the next supply point, and hopes for a tailwind – though with this elevation, it would only serve as a cooling breeze.

In Patersberg, at the peak of the midday heat, I find the village vending machine I marked on my map. My salvation. I’m craving a latte macchiato or something. There’s a can of iced coffee. Divine morale boost.

Around this time, a rotating group of fellow sufferers forms. Sometimes Dani is ahead, or Stephan, or someone else. Then one of us is sitting in the shade of a bench, and the other takes their place to cool down and refuel with cucumbers, cheese, and pretzels. Another excuse for another break. Torture to ride past a forest swimming pool, hearing the children scream in joy. You can’t plug your ears while biking.

After the midday Rewe: deluxe frustration – 11 hours for a weary 100 km. Not something you really want to upload to Strava. But then: gentle ups and downs through meadows and fields – almost meditative. Rewe in Hausen an der Aar: big feast of feta salad, pretzels, lime cream, and watermelon. Paradise on a €7 budget. Still 40 km to the sleeping spot – suddenly it’s going smoothly again. Stefan joins me. We boost each other’s motivation.

Shortly before dusk, two women direct us to a sports field with a grill hut. Our camp for the night. Dusty, but cozy. Before bed, I treat myself to a cat wash using my precious drinking water, sparingly dripped onto a microfiber cloth – so I blend seamlessly into the dusty hut with my only half-refreshed body.

And – finally – some sleep! A full five hours, which feels like first-class luxury after the past few nights. Alarm at 4:30, quick packing (a whole hour!), rice pudding, and bottled latte – off into a hopefully less frustrating day. Hope, after all, dies last…

Day 4
151 km / 2,800 m elevation gain
Elapsed time: approx. 16 hours

Halftime With Detours

After a rocket start on Day 1, solid flow on Day 2, and a third day that felt like chewing gum (at least until kilometer 100), I’m starting Day 4 in good spirits. Checkpoint 2 is on the plan – and with it, the long-awaited halfway point of the route. The weather? Postcard-perfect. Let’s go!

Water is running low, but my cemetery stop is strictly for a lightning-quick cat wash (no audience, please – I feel guilty enough already). Drinking? Better not. I’ve read in the WhatsApp group that some riders are dealing with nasty stomach issues. I’m avoiding fountains entirely – supposedly many just recirculate the water. Not exactly confidence-inspiring.

At sunrise, I meet some early risers – mostly of the animal variety. Curious little horses watch me go by, and a hedgehog freezes by the roadside like a prickly statue. I’m riding from Schmitten toward the Pferdskopf and already dreaming of breakfast. But first, a few flat kilometers – and right in the middle: Stephan. Next to his bike. Flat tire. I roll by and call out: “You got everything?” – “Yep,” he replies.

But then – full stop. My inner monologue kicks into high gear:
“Keep riding – it’s an unsupported race, you’re not supposed to help.”
“Yeah, but… you’ve ridden with him… do you really want to be that jerk?”
Short version: I turn around. I offer my floor pump (with my lack of tech skills, that barely counts as help anyway). A few quick moves, and the bike is rolling again – ready for the final stretch to CP2.

Checkpoint 2 doesn’t hold back: a climb that feels like 20 floors to the tower platform. But the view? Cinematic. In the distance, the Großer Feldberg waves hello – and on my GPS, I load Track 3 of 4. Halftime!

Descent back to Schmitten. On the way, I run into Nina – not realizing what a role she’ll still play today. Rewe is just opening – thank Stephan, otherwise I’d have rolled on hungry. I down a bottle of kefir in one go (not usually my thing, but my body craves it like a teenager craves TikTok).

I stock up, since the next 50 km will be foodless. Stephan, meanwhile, is having shifting issues – his gears keep jumping into the granny gears. I vaguely remember a tip from my mechanic: “Little screw, left – or right – half turn, then back… or something?” Worth a try – and look at that: it works! I reward myself with pastries and a latte macchiato (with two sugars) from the bakery.

Quick check on WhatsApp, FollowMyChallenge – a glimpse at the race. Suddenly Stephan appears again. Now the big gears are acting up. He decides to wait for a bike shop. I press on – time and distance are screaming in protest. Five hours in, and only 11 km covered. If this keeps up, I’ll miss the Finisher Party.

Then the route dives into the real terrain: singletrack. I’m slow. Very slow. Woods, fields, animals, heat – like a painting, only this one feels like it’s glued to the canvas.

Then, barely 30 km past CP2, a sign by the roadside catches my eye – neon colors, enough to wake even the most brain-fried cyclist:
“Trail Magic: Free Food. Free Toilet. Free Coffee. Free Shower. Free Safe Place to Sleep.”

I skip the sleeping part – it’s not even noon. But a shower… after three and a half days? Please let this not be heat delirium. But no – it’s real! A house right by the trail. Outside: Ramon, Röttger, Markus, Bernd, two trail angels, and a buffet that would make any land of milk and honey blush with envy. I grab a “virtual number” – queue for the shower – and in the meantime, feast on rolls, coffee, fruit, sweets, and drinks.

Then – the holy grail: a shower. Fully clothed (except for shoes), I step into the oasis. Everything gets wet – socks, shorts, shirt – all artfully tied and strapped to my panniers afterward to dry while riding, safely secured away from the spokes.

I add to the cheerful vibe with a story from the day before. The crowd in Pfaffenwiesbach can’t stop laughing:

Geisenheim, afternoon: A man stands on a corner, smartphone in hand, numbers “77” and “14” chalked on the pavement. I stop briefly – good excuse to let my legs rest after the last climb – and ask:
“Are you waiting for a Taunus Bikepacker?”
He nods. “Yes, number 77.”
I don’t know the rider’s name, so I ask.
He says something that sounds like “Hermann.”
Hermann? I pause. “Oh, cool, that’s my husband’s name too! Though… I don’t think there’s a Hermann in the race. But I won’t say anything – maybe I’m just confused.”
Later, I check the tracker: number 77 – that’s Ramon. Not Hermann. Close, but no.
When I share this “Hermann moment” with the group, they burst into laughter. Ever since then, you hear people calling out jokingly, “So, Hermann – how’s it going?” Ramon takes it with good humor.

Eventually, I tear myself away – reluctantly. But I wait long enough to witness Nina’s arrival, greeted with thunderous applause. Amid the commotion, I quietly slip away.

It’s noon. Almost seven hours in, and I’ve covered just 41 kilometers.
Can I still make up for it?

Taunus Diary – Chapter: “Doubt, Thistles & Determination”

The Taunus – peaceful, pristine, like someone gave it a quick once-over with a microfiber cloth at dawn. There’s a contagious calm draped over everything. At times, it opens up like a desert movie set; then suddenly you’re in forest so thick, you half-expect a group of talking deer to wander out of a fairytale.

Shelters are everywhere – three sides enclosed, one side open to the world. A tent? Honestly, could’ve left it at home! (Though to be fair, some of those huts are already claimed by the time I roll in at night.)

Small towns pop up along the way, each one full of unexpectedly lovely people. I swear the staff at Taunus bakeries are part-time angels – including the woman who personally brought me a spoon down a staircase. My face must’ve screamed “cooked cyclist in distress.”

As for the terrain – I’m convinced there’s an unwritten law in the Taunus: No climb under 14%. If it’s gentle, it’s probably a glitch in the system. After 11,000 meters of climbing, my legs have filed for official bankruptcy. Anything steeper than a mild incline? I’m either walking… or falling – usually into nettles and thistles. Thank you, nature, for the itchy, burning souvenirs.

Today it’s warm. Again. And hazy, for extra spice. After a heavenly trail magic stop, I roll on wearing a flappy shirt – questionable bike fashion, but deliciously breezy. The hills keep rolling, no serious mountains right now. But it’s already midday and I haven’t even hit 50 km. My daily goal waves at me in the rearview mirror (if I had one), and disappears laughing into the distance. That Friday evening arrival I had in mind? Yeah, no. Let’s just pretend I never said that.

The Großer Feldberg keeps peeking around corners – sometimes close, sometimes like a distant myth. The last and highest mountain, around 30 km from the finish. And honestly? I’ve already started trying to negotiate with it. Like, please be kind, mighty Feldberg…

Riding on asphalt is an emotional rollercoaster: just when I start to enjoy the smooth surface, BAM – the GPS sends me off into gravel hell. And then, just as I grumble my way into the next forest path, suddenly – fresh, perfect pavement! Taunus, you sly trickster.

And then there’s Dani. We keep crossing paths. Then, like some magical bike elf in a red-and-blue plaid shirt, poof – gone again. I suspect camouflage skills.

In the late afternoon heat, I have a hallucination. A camel. Just standing in a field. Not even kidding. I was this close to asking it for directions.

Bad Camberg welcomes me in the late afternoon with open arms – and more importantly, a supermarket. Deluxe haul: dinner for now, breakfast for later.

I think it was around here, though I can’t really be sure anymore with all the loops and almost-circles: When I mention that I’m headed to Limburg, I’m told it’s just another 5 kilometers downhill from here. I decide not to mention that I still have over 200 kilometers ahead of me to get there — no need to have them realize I’m completely nuts…

The road to my sleeping spot drags on like bubblegum on hot asphalt. The sun is sinking, the fields are rattling under my tires, and I’m trudging along like a weary pack mule. As twilight creeps in, I check FollowMyChallenge – Dani’s already conquered the Dörsbach Valley. That thing is rumored to have hike-a-bike and narrow trails. Definitely not a good place to stumble through in the dark.

I strike gold with a hidden grill site on the descent into the valley – a tucked-away haven for tired heroes. Sharp right turn, a few meters down, tucked behind trees: jackpot. I set up my tent… well, “set up” is generous. The ground is harder than my willpower in 38-degree heat – the tent pegs are more like decorative suggestions. My tent flaps in the wind like a sad old hammock, and I’m terrified I’ll tear it apart just by turning over in my sleep.

By morning, the dew has claimed everything – tent, sleeping bag, mood. Soaked.

But hey – I’m still here. And that’s already something, right?

Day 5
142 km / 2,900 m elevation gain
Elapsed time: approx. 15 hours

Of Moisture, Holidays, and Foldable Pizza

The day starts like every classic camping morning: with a soaking wet tent, a damp sleeping bag, and the weight of my bad decisions on my back—namely, pitching camp by the river. But hey, at least breakfast is dry.

I head into the so-called “technical section” with a bit of apprehension, but it turns out to be less scary than my last attempt to drive a tent peg into the ground. Which is great—any truly difficult stretch today would probably crush me rather than motivate me.

In Singhofen, I’m hoping for bread and pastries, but the bakery is closed. At 6 a.m. Taunus time, apparently. Which might follow some sort of “open-when-we-feel-like-it” principle. A few meters further, two ladies are standing outside the supermarket smoking—either waiting for their shift to start or for their smoke break to end. Who knows. When I ask about the other bakery, they drop the shocking news: “He’s not opening at all today.” I only understand why a bit later. Spoiler: it’s a holiday. Not for me, but apparently for everyone else.

A few guys pass me. I thought they were long gone, already over all the mountains.

Then I spot a funny town sign: “Berg” (Mountain). That’s new…

I must look a bit desperate—at least I’m allowed to refill my water bladder in the customer restroom. A blessing! The overflowing bread crates inside the closed store look at me like sirens tempting Odysseus. But rules are rules. Closed is closed.

Shortly after, I catch up with Stephan, who spent the night with rustling roommates (mice!) in a shelter. I don’t envy him. The village shop in Gemmerich, my last flicker of hope for breakfast, is—of course—also closed. Stephan looks at me: “You know it’s a holiday today, right?” Me: “Excuse me, what now?!” In my world, it’s just a regular Thursday.

Food? Water? Oh right—I’ve still got my emergency rations. I’ve been schlepping them around like treasure for four days: dates, nuts, and a suspiciously soft Knoppers bar. I’m a classic hoarder—better ten extra bars than one too few. Part of that stash will ride along the entire tour and return home untouched. Loyal companions.

In Wellmich on the Rhine, I ignore the detour in my route notes to a gas station (2 km? No thanks!) and head straight uphill instead. A smart move, it turns out: in Lykershausen, the holy grail of the day awaits—THE kiosk! Open! For us bikepackers! Günter, the guardian of snacks, conjures up sausage and cheese sandwiches, coffee, drinks—I nearly cry with gratitude.

But the mountain calls, and so I roll back down to the Rhine, through the super-scenic town of Braubach, and then climb into the forest again. Beautifully shady—good, because a deluxe fatigue attack forces me into a 10-minute power nap on a park bench. Luxury touring, right? (Side note: moments earlier, I thought I saw a moose by the trail. Didn’t tell anyone. Turns out it was just a stick in the bushes anyway.)

In Dachsenhausen, the gas station provides the full spread: ice cream, Haribo, another ice cream. I’m fast approaching the caloric intake of a toddler’s birthday party.

The descent along the old railway line is a dream—and suddenly: the Lahn valley! The final checkpoint is within reach. But first, I have to drag myself through Bad Ems—past people kayaking, paddleboarding, swimming, and strolling. Everyone seems to be on vacation. I’m sweating buckets and cursing internally. The climb to Malberg Tower isn’t really a climb, it’s an obstacle course—complete with tree limbo over fallen logs.

Then, the reward: view! Tower! Checkpoint 3! And a cool trail that drops me into Nassau—for an ice cream break and a quick Italian chat with the owners of the gelateria, originally from Treviso, more precisely Conegliano.

I ask their son in Italian if I can freshen up a bit. He looks at me like I just asked him for the moon. I try again in German. Then he snaps out of it and says, “Wait, were you just speaking Italian to me?” Funny what a bit of surprise does to a person. And here I thought it was just my brain that was melting.

Stephan is there too—next door, ordering pizza. I go the other way around: ice cream first, then pizza. Rookie mistake.

Because the pizza takes forever. And ever. And… yeah, I get forgotten. Eventually, I pack it up, box and all—foldable dinner to go—and ride off again. Up and over the next hill towards Laurenburg.

Stephan and I ride together through the twilight, and I’m on the hunt for a camping spot. A nice grill site? Occupied by a huge family gathering. Okay, Plan B: the “Zum Lahntal” campground.

Tent by the river? Way too damp. Hotel room? Fully booked. But I know the trick—from one of Markus’s videos. I ask casually if there’s a “little spot” to sleep—and bingo: I get the attic. Dry floor, a clothesline for my tent, a shower (second one in a row—decadent!), and a few hours of restful sleep. Before that, hunger forces me to enjoy the pizza that had melded with the cardboard box. And that helps me forget that I only managed just over 140 km today.

Next morning, everything’s running like clockwork. Rice pudding for breakfast, a lukewarm latte macchiato from the gas station (body temp after hours in the bottle). And then—off I go again.

Because it’s only… wait, how much is left again?

Day 6
153 km / 2,800 m elevation gain
Elapsed time: approx. 15 hours

Of Meadow Traps, Belgian Bricks, and Bottle-Wise Recycling Economics
(Distance? Many kilometers. Elevation? Also many. Memories? Priceless.)

I’m already thinking about the finish while setting off—definitely a motivational mistake. Ride through the night? No way. I’d miss out on all the natural and cultural gems—and more importantly: the bakeries! And the sausage sandwiches offered by random women. But more on that later.

My legs feel surprisingly fresh today, but I don’t trust it. It’s probably just adrenaline, because during the first photo stop my bike tips over—again. Boom—another scrape on my leg, which is starting to look like the surface of an old hiking stick.

The morning fog over the Lahn gives everything a mystical, almost romantic vibe.

Then, suddenly—on a fast descent—a familiar face in the distance: Volker! I can’t make out much from the corner of my eye. Later he’ll confess he was completely stark naked at that moment. I’m relieved I didn’t look too closely. Even more relieved that the camera barely caught it (at minute XY—but that stays our little secret).

Once again, I bump into Stephan—it’s becoming a routine now.

Before Limburg, I make my classic blunder: a navigation fail. My Garmin beeps indignantly, but I ignore it like you ignore an annoying backseat driver. I take a “shortcut” across a freshly mown field. Big mistake.

“Gabi, stooop!” Stephan yells—but too late. I look down: hay has lovingly but mercilessly wrapped itself around my cassette—each cog wearing its own little grass hat. Nothing’s moving anymore. Stephan pulls out pliers and helps me perform grass surgery on the bike. Partner support achieved—at least morally. DSQ? Jesko? Let’s just say: creatively handled. Lesson learned: don’t throw away ice cream sticks—they’re great for grass removal. And one more thing: shortcuts will bite you back. Though ten meters of shortcut probably don’t end in a DSQ (= disqualification, a word that’s become a tongue-twister at this point).

Finally, Limburg—a town straight out of a model train set: half-timbered houses, alleys, and thankfully still too early for tourists with selfie sticks. We desperately search for a Rewe (supermarket) until a man with a bread bag enlightens us: “Just around the corner!” And indeed—it’s not just any bakery, it’s Hensel, the artisanal baker! I can’t decide and grab three pastries plus a latte macchiato. Then I go back in—for the Belgian Brick. A pastry like a poem. “If you don’t know it, you’ve missed out,” the baker says. He’s right. It’s a baked good with a chocolate-covered marshmallow in the middle—unbelievably tasty!

Back on the road—I’m now both a mobile laundry rack and a walking bottle bank. Stephan had earlier taught me to leave bottles beside the trash, not in it. Not because he’s a secret trash-lover, but because of the bottle deposit system. I’d called him an eco-freak a few days ago—because where I’m from, we don’t have deposits on nearly everything. But now? I collect bottles like others forage mushrooms. Soon I’ll be financing all my supermarket hauls with yogurt bottles. Once I even find one on the roadside—jackpot!

Suddenly, my body yells: kefir! cucumber! (Yep, that’s the true craving of a bikepacker.) A supermarket appears like a miracle. I stop dead—causing a retiree couple in an SUV to feel emotionally injured and flip me off. I wave cheerfully. Maybe we are all part of the same risk group, after all…

Out front: Ramon. Always where you least expect him. We exchange tired glances—and bottle deposits. LOL

What follows is a lovely bike path along the Lahn. But too much beauty makes you sleepy—Jesko must’ve known that, because suddenly the climb gets nasty again. Music? Audiobook? I’ve got it all—but I prefer to ride in silence with my suffering. Sometimes even with dignity.

In Braunfels: a mandatory ice cream break. It’s hot. Röttger and Ramon zoom ahead. I stick around—literally.

Later, on a stifling uphill in some sun-drenched village, a woman is sitting in the blazing sun eating a sausage sandwich. I brake—care for a little chat? I’m not riding in rhythm anyway, so what’s one more stop. Monika, as I later find out, has been watching bikepackers roll by for a day. Trick question: “So, who am I?” — “Gabi, of course.” Bingo!

Shortly after, I meet Dagmar—Monika’s friend—on a dotwatcher bike tour. I love these encounters. Without constant pressure and clock-watching, they wouldn’t even be possible.

Power nap on a bench. Then a quick interview with Tom. Niels hides in the bushes and snaps a paparazzi photo—I hadn’t even fixed my hair! Outrageous.

Wetzlar: heat-addled, I circle a roundabout looking for a Rewe near the gas station. Inside: blessedly air-conditioned. Sadly, no rice pudding. No latte. No cucumber. But hey—Röttger and Ramon again! One last time. They’re heading out—night ride! Not me. I go over another meadow. This time legal—but I still fall. Foot twisted in the clip pedal, and down I go, all the way to the ground. Bloody knee, pride in tatters. I curse quietly—gravity and lack of focus are clearly conspiring.

Later in the afternoon, I still can’t find a rhythm. It’s hot, the fields are shimmering, and the sun seems to be running a BBQ program—with me as the sausage.

Eventually, I find Stephan again. Together we roll into the twilight. And then—like a dream come true—a giant covered building next to the sports field in Oberkleen. Perfect for a night without a tent. Dry ground, no dew, no mosquitoes.

A luxury bed made of concrete—what more could you ask for?

The last hours
153 km / 2,800 m elevation gain
Elapsed time: approx. 15 hours

Last Day – Early Start, Feldberg Finale, and the Tamed Beast Called Taunus

Around 3 a.m., I wake up freezing—properly shivering. Somewhere between Eskimo and frozen pizza. Sleeping bag too thin? Body too chilled? Who cares. I peel myself off my sleeping mat like a tired burrito and decide: pack up. Ride. Maybe there’s breakfast at the finish?

Ha! In my usual optimistic overconfidence, I think I’ll be done in just a few hours. Small miscalculation: there are still three real mountains ahead of me. Not little hills like the other day—actual, honest-to-goodness, sweat-inducing climbs.

And still: breakfast at 10:30 counts, right? At least when you start riding at 3 a.m.

I set off—into the darkness. And, of course… in the wrong direction. Classic. Turn around, try again. It’s pitch black on the trail, so I turn on my Lupine helmet light in addition to my SON headlamp—enough light for an entire village. No crashes now, not so close to the end. My shins already have the full scratch-and-dent collection.

The route takes me over the Hausberg, the Winterstein, and—last but not least—the mighty Großer Feldberg, the boss of the Taunus. In between? A few extra bonus elevation meters. But hey—they say it’s all downhill after that. Allegedly.

Dawn is breaking just as I pass a deeply sleeping Henning—posed like Sleeping Beauty on the table of a trail shelter. I sneak past like a ninja on wheels. Followmychallenge confirms: Henning spotted. I let him sleep. He’s earned it.

Winterstein surprises me with a downhill trail—except I’m going up. I push the bike like a tourist with a stroller in the Alps. At least there’s no traffic—except for one squirrel, who’s clearly laughing at me.

Then: breakfast in Köppern. Not free, but hard-earned. The Feldberg is calling. Loudly.

The trail starts off promising: big rocks, tricky line choices, heart rate skyrocketing. Then I meet Kilian, looking totally chilled as he snaps photos in the enchanted fairytale forest. I must look like wild-haired Hilde, wheezing from every pore.

And suddenly: asphalt! Hallelujah! I empty my half-empty water bottle—good thing I’ve got a full 1-liter deposit bottle in my bag. Of course. Because Gabi hoards. Not out of paranoia—just for peace of mind!

Then it comes: the final steep ramp. No sane person would choose to walk up this. I have to push. Final boss mode. Around the next bend, finally: the communications tower on the Großer Feldberg. I’m almost there!

A quick chat with Stefan on his road bike—clearly not coming from Winterstein with that Bianchi—and then it’s downhill. Just 25 more kilometers of gravel and a tiny final bump. Or so I think.

But there it is: the final ramp. Dead straight. Endless. As steep as the guilt of forgetting to return your bottles for deposit. This is no bump. This is murder in gravel form. I curse and suffer my way up.

And then… I’m really done.

I fly up the last stretch to the Eppstein Project campground—almost like floating on clouds, if clouds were made of dust and sweat—and I hear it already: music, clapping, laughter. The finish line!

The finisher tent! Everyone’s there—Jesko, Frauke, Christian, Inza, Röttger, and so many more. Hugs, applause, a feeling like Christmas, your birthday, and your first and only true love (Hermann, yes, I absolutely mean you!!) all at once.