A bit of remorse I already, I must admit. For I had Angela as saying "Tomorrow - 10:00 clock - feel like a short bike-round?" invited via SMS. That would develop it into a calf muscle murderous brute captain, had I concealed.
Well, in my defense: the Waseberg I had honestly not on the plan.
And so we meet in the morning - after all, is Saturday, and on a day when they would otherwise sleep to take a Quäldichein, ten times cost more to overcome than getting up on Monday at 6: 30 Clock. Angela looks a little too excited, looks a bit bargain not fresh, as we meet Palmaille.
Locker is still empty it first on the road towards Wedel Blankeneser from the city, we have arranged to drive a lap along the bank - I reckon before her easy 50 kilometers. She does not trust me.
correction.
For after we arrived at the Shell gas station, I decide (in a good reminder of the Cyclassics) drive straight ahead but not to the left: The Koester mountain, which should at least be in it!
you panting murmurs, and makes great eye - but she bites through. think we reached the top. Breathe through. And it seems to me the idea: Waseberg, I want the Waseberg!
often sought, never found and heard so many horror stories: Now I will know it even once. Angela silent.
We ask a postman, where it would go to the hardest pitch for Hamburg. The only smiles and says: "Down by the shore long, next up ... you want next to you about a little torture"
"Yes!" I cry with joy.
Angela's face falters.
And then we turn the corner, I can now even the switch to the mountain path, we face a wall. And when I write wall, I mean wall. Sure, 15% slope - this is an abstract number sounds like "very little". Sounds like "there is still much room to the 100th "As I said -.... sounds like the only way in reality everything is much worse
goes before us it straight up a ramp just 600 meters does not sound much back yards -.. not even" Kilo ... "in front of 600 meters dollop
I See you in the pedals to get up and everything give Behind me I hear Angela ausklickt And I spit already alveoli -... have not done it the first meter of Old Swede, I think ??. me, and that here the pros do FOUR TIMES IN A ROW
some point sets the brain's service All the blood, all oxygen, all ATP molecules - in the legs, give substance: stop, end - and even re- engage to continue: nil. Here you have high - or run.
Eventually I went up. An eternity. Two, three days later, so it feels at least. Through my three layers of shirts, you can see through my heart beating - well, knock. More of a jump. A hectic booming. 200 pulse. So that's that. I breathe. It rattled the bronchi. White is hot breath against my face.
I look down. In the photo, I think, you will not be able to see, but I pull out my phone and tremulous light on what opens up there below me: a brutal black hose, a dark abyss, wet and slippery. Far away yet recognize I am Angela and I wonder whether they comply with the slippery cleats does not have it much harder to walk than hochzukurbeln same. take barely: So this is the Waseberg. Hell of the North. Hats off! Everything hurts.
"shit on the wall," I'll call in moist thickets.
A little girl looks up briefly from their mobile phone. Then she types on their SMS.
About faded "JAN" graffiti that once cheered the fallen heroes of cycling, up to shoot this ramp more quickly, she pushes a few minutes later, stunned her road bike and shaking his head. Without a word they want to put in wrestling and wants to tell me: crazy, what the young make here! 
And I remember back at me one of my stages in Italy - where I am 22% down ramps. Only funny to think of it, so nasty as this mountain here that were not. Or is it in the end just as Mama had always said earlier: "If you marry, everything is forgotten." Well married, I'm not, but it really seems that even the hardest pain quickly loses even more intense.
As with Waseberg.
Only 500 meters later, when we set off again about to Hamburg, seems to me the idea for which I am suddenly on fire: my rather monotonous training (Out of port and 60 km to the ferry Hoopte and back again) to add a new trail: Out for Koster mountain and ... shall we say ... two times over the Waseberg. Well - on this great Waseberg-round I'm already excited!
Waseberg Small Round - run: 36.73 km - But quite different - it is my road bike. Because this is somehow my baby. Sometimes I'm just standing there and look at it. Beautiful. Wuuuuunderschöne!
And as I look at the baby then particularly to every little complaint, every scratch and every Macke.
"Carbon will not forgive," says one yet so fine. The other day I brush my
Cervélo and I notice a scratch. shit, I think I'm going right at the Pirate and bikes.
Robert looks himself this frowns. Shakes his head: "Do not worry," he says, "this is only a small Crack in the paint. . Nix, which attacks the carbon "he calmed down and then he makes a long pause ... and explain me how to handle the Cervélo." Well, this is just a color scratches. Do not worry. Since nothing happens. If haste but what happens, eh lifetime warranty on frame, which is then replaced
And he adds: ".. You have to survive the crash ..."
Thank God he grins
Well, think I That's all well and good -.. my baby is not sick And if something happens, I turn my Judo skills from old army judo-AG-time (unwinding of the flight, we have trained like champions ) and then there just NEN new framework.
Doof only do I now, somehow, every time that I clean my bike, discover new small cracks. Or I'm crazy now? Suffering from hair crack-o-mania?
I should just brush less ...
.
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