FRIDAY August 12, 1994: Breakfast was canned apricots and a hazella sandwich and it tasted good. I scraped the sticky brown clay off the tent stakes for packing. The rainfly was folded wet. Some bicycle touring books advise you to hang wet tents and rain flies to air dry before packing. That can be impractical. Drying can take a long time under wet cloudy skies. Cyclists often do not want to wait that long. However, if the articles are damp, and there is sunshine and a breeze, you can spread them out before breakfast, and start the day with dry gear. Another way is to spread out the wet articles when stopped for breaks during the day. I carried all the gear to the base of a large oak tree near the road. After loading, I knocked the dried clay off the cycling shoes, mounted my heavenly loaded touring bicycle and entered the highway headed east.
A slight following wind push me along. There were the usual stops for food and drink during the day. At one stop, in a small parking lot next to a large field of sunflowers, I had just made two sandwiches, and eaten one, and was just beginning to devour the other, when it started raining again. I put on a raincoat and I spinned down the road. The rain stopped in a few miles. There were two stops at bicycle shops. One was at Metz and the other at Saint Avold. Neither sold 27 by 1 and 1/4 inch tires which was a cause for concern.
A small flyer in the shop at Saint Avold advertised a campground near Felsberg. The owner of the shop gave directions for getting there. The flyer said that campground was only 12 francs or about $2. That seemed much more than reasonable. Getting there required cycling quite some distance through heavy City traffic, and up steep hills. In the office at the campground they wanted 29 francs which was more like $6. I decided to move on. It was not that the place was not worth it. It most certainly was. Out front was a large, clean, modern A-Frame restaurant. It had clean hot water showers. The international youth hostel federation managed the place. But Americans dislike being quoted a lower price to lure us in, only to be charged more than twice the quoted amount. Some people do not realize how used to standardized prices they are. When prices are switched on us at the last minute we get miffed. We feel we have been tricked, and almost invariably, the second price is higher than the first. That was my take on it after being penurious most of my life. Highway N3 running East out of town was excellent. Traffic was heavy. Pollution was minimal.
An elevated railroad track pointing east and west crossed the highway at one of its many bends. Immediately passed the tracks to the right, a rough dirt road wended west off the highway, juxtaposed to the base of the earthen berm supporting the track. The track was 10 ft above the dirt road. On the other side of the road began a moderately steep Hill that peaked about 300 ft to the north. The hill looked smooth enough for sleeping. Hand pushing the bike 100 ft up the hill at an elevation still below the level of the tracks, I strung the nylon rain fly between two trees. Dinner was fish sandwiches and canned pineapple. It was a rough night of sleep because of the lumpy uneven ground, and the din of trains rattling by in the dark. 43 miles.
