The town in which the Mrs. and I reside is called Waldfeucht, which translates to “wet forest”. I could not think of a more appropriate name, especially after the constant drizzle we’ve been experiencing for the past week. Everything is wet, damp, and hasn’t the chance to dry completely before the next bout of rain rolls around. This has kept me mostly indoors as, with most of my possessions, my rain gear is still in limbo.
One morning, however, the sky appeared promising enough for me to finally get out on the bicycle. I took the Avon down one of the local bicycle routes, which are frequently dirt or gravel roads, and out into the countryside. The stillness and quiet of the morning hovered in the air like the fog that billowed over the fields. Even the birds, whose chirping is always at the forefront of the natural soundscape, were muted in their post-rainstorm state.
The bicycle route meandered around the treeline before entering the woods themselves. The fog obscured the farthest portions of the path, which unlike driving a car in the same conditions, actually added to the enjoyment. A creek ran alongside the path, collecting the water drops that fell from the trees above.
I would eventually emerge from the misty wet woods, the very place I imagine gave this place its name, and reconnect with a paved road in the next village over. I kept thinking why the bicycle route planners would neglect the perfectly fine roads that parallel this path in the woods, and instead point travelers into the trees, but I realized that whatever the reason, I was glad they had.
- Bicyclist Abroad
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