Wednesday 30.07.2013 68km Total:1061km
It's pretty much impossible to get an overview on the GPS when riding out of a major city and this time was no exception so three misnavigations and one run redlight later¹ we're on the A7 on our way towards the Mecca of Metal, Wacken.
The two last times we've been there's always been pileups on the Autobahn when we where getting close to Wacken but not this time.
Probably because we'd pimped the bikes with flags this year to smooth the irritation caused by lane splitting between traffic¹.
Instead we ride passed a very impressive road work where they were casting new road (the majority of the Autobahn is concrete, not asphalt) with a machine that looked teleported straight from the pits of hell.
It was so big and wide they cast all three lanes at the same time. Fascinating stuff really.
The signs posted at German road works is also a bit of a curiosity, where they narrow down the lanes at the beginning of the road works there's a red angry smiley with the distance until the road works end, in the middle there's a yellow neutral smiley and at the end there's a green happy smiley and a big sign that says thanks for your cooperation and understanding.
Pretty classy I think.
The 130-140km/h ride on the Autobahn completely massacred my Wackenflag but I guess the battlescars just lends it authenticity?
Just as last year Thorsten welcomed us with a big smile and a firm handshake and Doris hugged us before they opened up the garage for us to park the bikes.
Another heart-warming detail was that the boots we bought last year stood in our rooms when we carried in the luggage.
They truly are wonderful people and it almost feels as a kind of betrayal when we'll have to let them know we won't be coming back next year.
A shower later we're headed for the madness known as Wacken.
The shower is worth a mention because it's the most aggressive shower I've ever come across.
There's no big water heater anywhere, there's an instant electric heater in each room which only seem to have two modes, either ice cold or boiling.
If you have the nerve to call upon hot water the response is hot water, I'll f**king show you hot water and then you'd better stand back and try to adjust the temperature without getting scalded.
At Wacken we stroll around familiarizing ourselves with the grounds, most of it is like it was last couple of years to by know it's pretty easy finding our way around.
We're in luck with the weather and get through the whole day without any rain and head home to Julianka with Thorsten at 9PM.
At home we're greeted by the infamous wackööööööööön screams from a picnic table set up at the hotel parking lot so since we heard the call we thought we'd better heed it.
Turns out it originated from four nice middle aged metal heads from somewhere around Dortmund who generously shared not only stories (in very impressive English) an also Warsteiner Pils.
I'm not sure if the Pils might have made stories any better, but they sure as hell didn't make them any worse.
Our little miniature festival continues until about twelve and then we hit the sack.
¹ I admit nothing and you can't proove it in court.