From Tyne to Rhine

10:32am Saturday 7th June 2008

Donning his waterproofs and lycra, Nigel Green saddles up for a cycle holiday along the river Rhine.

IT was, as my wife had pointed out, a classic example of a mid-life crisis.

Here I was, at the age of 44, trying to cycle half-way across Europe.

Rather flabby and perched on a bike that only cost a couple of hundred pounds, I must have looked a sight in a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a fluorescent yellow jacket. But what the hell!

Even sad old blokes like me are entitled to some kind of adventure.

And, as darkness fell and I pedalled my final few miles in to the city of Basel in Switzerland, I felt a tremendous sense of achievement. I had managed to cycle 620 miles along the Rhine Cycle Route in seven days.

I set out in the last week of March, catching the DFDS ferry from Newcastle to Amsterdam. The ferry is more civilized than flying and there is no fuss about taking your bike.

Once on board, as I tucked into the huge buffet, I found myself playing a game of trying to guess which of my fellow passengers were British and which were Dutch. To play the game, all you do is make a guess and then wait for them to speak to get your answer.

At the risk of sounding unpatriotic, it is sadly true that we are fatter and less healthy than our fellow Europeans.

When you arrive on the continent, you can see one of the reasons for this.

Across Holland and Germany there are countless cycle paths, all safely separated from the traffic - unlike back home where riders have to take their lives in their hands, as they battle it out with cars and lorries. The result is that more people on the continent use their bikes, whether to ride for fun or to simply commute to work.

Arriving on the outskirts of Amsterdam in the late morning, my plan was to reach Arnhem by nightfall. The 83-mile ride was tough but not too taxing.

After spending the night in a cheap hotel, I set off at first light along the banks of the Rhine, passing under the John Frost Bridge (named after the heroic Parachute Regiment officer who played a key part in the 1944 battle).

My target for day two was to reach the German city of Duisburg, around 84 miles away, which I managed by early evening. The route largely consists of dike top cycle paths, which are easy to ride.

Day three involved a 55 mile-trip to the fascinating city of Cologne. Despite being bombed heavily during the war, the city's cathedral survived intact. The two 515ft-tall towers are lit at night and make a spectacular sight as you walk along the banks of the Rhine. And while most of the "medieval" streets were actually rebuilt after being flattened during the war, they are still a joy to explore.

Day four saw me clock up another 71 miles to reach Koblenz. After staying in fairly basic accommodation so far, I decided to spoil myself and spend the night at Diehl's Hotel. For around £100, you can treat yourself to a luxury room overlooking the river. After freshening up, I had just enough time to explore the city's old streets and sample some of the restaurants and bars where, even with a poor exchange rate, the prices are on par with Britain.

Day five saw me again setting off at daybreak to head south. The scenery slowly became more dramatic as the flat land gave way to mountain slopes, lined with castles and vineyards. This was the highlight of my journey and I felt incredibly care-free, as I rode along the riverside, stopping off at the scenic villages dotted along the route for a quick coffee and snack. I managed to do another 103 miles and, as darkness fell, I reached the city of Worms, where I spent a night in a cheap hotel.

Day six saw the return of flat scenery as I headed further south, soon reaching France. Despite riding into the wind, I managed to clock up 104 miles. Again, the route consisted largely of easy, diketop cycle paths.

THE Rhine route is also enjoyed by locals, many dressed in lycra and looking more like real cyclists than me. I was struck by how many were elderly and how their lean bodies were able to travel so much faster than my less-slender frame.

I survived on what I could crush into a small backpack and a tiny bag strapped to the back. The two pairs of underpants, socks, jogging bottoms and T-shirts I took had to be washed in hotel sinks and rotated each day. Doubtless, riders from other nations, often carrying large, neatly-packed pannier bags, looked at me and thought: "I bet he's British!"

By the morning of day seven, after spending a night in a £20 hotel in the country, I arrived in Strasbourg. The city is a tourist's delight, with its cathedral and medieval alleyways. Sadly, I had just an hour or so to explore it on my bike and, as I did so, I caused mayhem as I tried to negotiate my way through trams, traffic, pedestrians and other cyclists.

Hearing the clanging of a bell, I looked over my shoulder to discover a tram bearing down on me. Both the driver and many of the passengers were gesticulating at me to get out of the way and doubtless thinking: "I bet he's British!"

Despite riding into a strong wind, I set my heart on reaching Switzerland that night. I felt I had more energy than usual and began to burn through the 120 miles I needed to do. It was dark as I rode into the picturesque city of Basel and began the desperate search for a reasonablypriced hotel.

A major jewellery fare had left nearly all the rooms booked up and my only option was to fork out £200. I reconciled the payment by telling myself I deserved some luxury after such an incredible journey.

With my holiday time rapidly running out, the next morning, I caught a train from Basel to Amsterdam.

It was only as I sat through the tenhour journey back down the Rhine that I realised just how far I'd travelled.

Arriving back in the port of Ijmuiden, near Amsterdam, I waited for the ferry to take me back to Newcastle.

Popping into a local supermarket to buy supplies, the young woman behind the counter spoke to me in English. I asked her how she knew I was English and she replied: "I can just tell." Perhaps it was the paunch (albeit now slightly-reduced).

Maybe it was the shaven head.

Perhaps it was the scruffy clothing. Either way, I realised that the way I had mocked my fellow Brits on the ferry trip out to Holland had backfired.

And yet I could not help feel proud. In true British style, I had set out illequipped and badly-prepared and yet still succeeded. And, while it may have been a mid-life crisis, I loved every minute of it.

TRAVEL FACTS

Nigel traveled from Newcastle to Amsterdam courtesy of DFDS Seaways. For more details phone 0871-522 9955 or visit www.dfds.co.uk Nigel would also like to thank the German National Tourist Office in London for their help. For more details visit www.germanytourism.

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