Ditching the public transport in favour of one's own locomotion would cut out all hazards, right? Er, not quite. Borrowing bikes from the hotel was certainly a sound idea, a healthy option, a chance for lots of fresh air. A clear route map would have been a useful addition, without the key obscuring the very bit of the terrain that would set us on a promising-looking track beside a canal towards the Olympic Park. A few false starts therefore ensued but eventually we hit the right spot ... once across an unpicturesque section of dug-up tram lines. Are there always so many road works in Germany?
The shady track was a delight, though, a welcome relief from sun that was already scorching at 10 o'clock. We cycled along the flat, past little summer houses. Sir Chris Hoy might have found it a bit tame, but for a couple of fifty-somethings out of practice with two wheels, it was ideal. Junctions were helpfully signposted and on the odd bits of actual road travel, there were special cycle lanes and a distinct respect from car drivers.
At the park, built for the 1972 Olympics, Munich was beginning to come out to play. Being the weekend, other cyclists, joggers and people having fun on the lake with a contraption that trained them to wake-board, could have been tourists or locals. Whoever they were, it's a great recreation space against the backdrop of the sail-like stadia rooflines, but we pressed on after an idle few minutes and a spot of rehydration. Further signs pointed us to the English Garden, a massive park famed for its nude sunbathing ... seems ironic in a place so named, given that I think the Germans would be considered a lot less inhibited that the average Brit. Thankfully we managed to avoid that bit anyway.
We also managed to get back (a 25 km round trip, not earth-shattering in its scope but satisfying nevertheless) before threatening clouds bubbled up into a clattering thunderstorm. The rain put paid to a trip back into town to sample a proper German evening meal, and we opted instead for the fabulous La Brasserie, where Ian pronounced his lamb chops the best meal he'd ever tasted. Off to join the cruise in Passau tomorrow, where we'll eat 'German Kitchen', honest. Anyway, we've already made up for it in local beer.
The shady track was a delight, though, a welcome relief from sun that was already scorching at 10 o'clock. We cycled along the flat, past little summer houses. Sir Chris Hoy might have found it a bit tame, but for a couple of fifty-somethings out of practice with two wheels, it was ideal. Junctions were helpfully signposted and on the odd bits of actual road travel, there were special cycle lanes and a distinct respect from car drivers.
At the park, built for the 1972 Olympics, Munich was beginning to come out to play. Being the weekend, other cyclists, joggers and people having fun on the lake with a contraption that trained them to wake-board, could have been tourists or locals. Whoever they were, it's a great recreation space against the backdrop of the sail-like stadia rooflines, but we pressed on after an idle few minutes and a spot of rehydration. Further signs pointed us to the English Garden, a massive park famed for its nude sunbathing ... seems ironic in a place so named, given that I think the Germans would be considered a lot less inhibited that the average Brit. Thankfully we managed to avoid that bit anyway.
We also managed to get back (a 25 km round trip, not earth-shattering in its scope but satisfying nevertheless) before threatening clouds bubbled up into a clattering thunderstorm. The rain put paid to a trip back into town to sample a proper German evening meal, and we opted instead for the fabulous La Brasserie, where Ian pronounced his lamb chops the best meal he'd ever tasted. Off to join the cruise in Passau tomorrow, where we'll eat 'German Kitchen', honest. Anyway, we've already made up for it in local beer.
