Day 20 - Mühlheim am Donau to Obermarchtal (61 miles)

May is only a few days away and yet when I look ahead at the forecast I see more rain than sun and even snow. Today followed the trend with grey skies and light showers not long after I set off but despite that the morning was everything I could have asked for. 

The Danube here is small, barely more than a wide stream, and it flows through the narrow, flat flood plain of a steep sided valley, carved out by nature millennia ago. Sheer grey cliffs hem in and act as a backdrop to the river as it twists and turns and switchbacks as only a small river can.  And my route just tags along beside. It was beautiful, even in the rain. In the sunshine it would be stunning. 

For over an hour I cycled the track, not rushing and having no need to share it with anyone, it was mine alone to enjoy. Around every turn was another photograph, another potential jigsaw box lid. I stopped at a random bench and sat and ate breakfast with a view: a bank of green dotted with yellow, sloping down to the narrow river and framed by two solid grey cliffs that trapped it in a loop. The sound of light rain spattering on the leaves of the trees that clung to the side of the steep valley behind me only added to the charm rather than detracted from it.

By midday I had reached the small village of Beuron. The track became road, the flood plain much wider and the surrounding valley sides far off and less sheer and dramatic, everything a toned down version of the morning. I cycled roads and lanes near or by the Danube across this landscape, towns a mile or so away visible across the wide, flat expanse. The fingerprint of man's interference was also now visible in the distance too - pylons, industrial units, roads - and they got ever closer as the afternoon wore on. Occasionally though it was just me, woods and hills on the horizon, and a narrow lane cutting through green pasture, heavy with the yellow of buttercups and dandelions, and nothing but that between me and a small village in the distance.

When in Germany…

Fate had one last treat for me. In the small town of Obermarchtal I was having trouble finding my accommodation; I knew I was in the right area but I could not find the address on the map. A friendly German pointed me through an imposing archway near to where I was standing that led to the grounds of a beautiful old Baroque church. I am now in a well-appointed room off the cloister of what was once a monastery. I had no idea that this is what I had booked, it was simply in the right place at the right price with a photograph showing what appeared to be a generic looking room. But it is a real gem of a place and for whatever reason, as I walked around the grounds earlier, I knew I had a big grin across my face.