I’d spent last night plotting a nice, gentle 25 mile ride northwards through the southern part of the Black Forest, expecting forest paths, snow-laden roofs puffing smoke from chimneys and general leisurely greatness.

Alas, it had silently snowed heavily last night and I woke up to a blanket of snow. Undeterred - or rather, too stubborn to change my plans - I set off past the foggy lake and into town through stinging cold hail and off along the “leisurely” route I had earmarked, an Escher-esque path that snaked seemingly forever upward through quaint little villages whose occupants had far more sense than to cycle through heavy snow on a day like this.

It was tiring work, and I was already soaked by several splashes from thoughtless drivers who swiftly received back a single gloved digit for their efforts. Worse still, I wasn’t on top form; I was busy cultivating an impressive cold. As I reached the “peak” of the “mountain” (a mere 1015 metres) I’d been slowly climbing, I felt terrible - exhausted, wet, cold and  not in the best of moods.

Nevertheless, I pushed on, free-wheeling down the other side straight into a torrent of biting snow and hail which painfully stung my face and eyes, so much so that I was forced to descend with only one squinting eye open. It wasn’t the best day for cycling, no matter how beautiful the  snow-dropped scenery looked.

Flagging desperately, I saw a young chap outside a house and pulled over to ask him where the nearest train station was, hoping to pull the same trick I had in Switzerland and ride the rails the rest of the way.

“Titisee”, he replied, pointing in the direction I’d just come. Arse!

Luckily he went on to mention the buses started again at a place called Furtwangen, a few kilometres along. It wasn’t on my TomTom map, which made me think it was one of those mythical places you had to believe existed before it appeared. I pressed on through dense fog patches and finally reached a turnoff which led down into a valley. Within moments, and to my delight and relief, civilisation started to appear - they had a supermarket and everything! - and so I freewheeled all the way down and piled into a Turkish restaurant to refuel and thaw my bones.

Apologising to the owner for leaving a British-shaped wet patch on the floor, I sought out the bus stop and enjoyed every second of the thirty minute journey to my destination, Triberg, appreciating that I was sitting down in the warm rather than still pedalling exhaustedly through the snow. I would never had made it in a day in those conditions, not to mention my spluttering illness.

At Triberg - home of the world’s two largest cuckoo clocks, don’t you know (they both claim to hold the record) - I didn’t linger but instead hopped on a train further north to Heidelberg, an old university town I had visited years ago but had little recollection of apart from a vague fuzzy feeling of conviviality there. The youth hostel was on the far side of the campus, and I passed lots of industrious German students as I made my way to it to ditch my things, shower and head out into town for the evening.

The youthful vibe spilled out onto the central streets as well; it was very busy for a Tuesday evening. The pub I had selected was rammed to the rafters - I suspected it was student night. Instead, I wandered around the corner to an “old student venue” which had much more space - a blatantly touristy pub where the kids stayed away from - but the vibe seemed convivial, and I was starving, so I took a pew. The place was lined with old graduation photos, old traffic signs (it seems as if the student penchant for stealing public property is as rampant over here as it is in England), and other themey student memorabilia. But the food was great and the atmosphere cheery as a kooky German pianist bashed out renditions of pop tunes over the chatty hubbub. At random intervals he would stand up and dance a bit, wink and shout in heavily-accented English “That’s Life!”

Indeed. After nearly killing myself on the bike today, I could certainly raise a glass to celebrate that.

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