Over the last month (yes, that month), I decided I need more goals. Art goals. So I put down hypothetical / future works I’d like to make onto my other website, and went for another ride. The last month’s riding, being when I couldn’t hammer myself and had to practice restraint, turned out to be rather bloody good for me. So, sitting around thinking about how I could ever turn me doing Paris–Roubaix into An Art, and people mouthing off about how it takes ‘hard work’ to get what you want — nah fam, it doesn’t work like that, that’s the lie of meritocracy — I thought, fuck ya’s all, you want hard? See me. And thought a good preparation would be to cycle the 167 or so kilometres of the former Berlin Wall. Some of which I’ve already done, so I know it’s got cobbles and all, and is a madness in that department.
167 kilometres is also a pretty good single day race, and going from roads to cobbles to gravel, through the city, around Brandenburg, fields and lakes and forests, it’d make a banger of a women’s Spring Classic, Germany’s own Strada Bianche. Just saying, UCI.
Under-slept, with pockets full of energy bars, I decided to reconnoitre the southern part of the Berliner Mauerweg, starting from where Kreuzberg turns into Alt-Treptow, just over Lohnmühlenbrücke on the Landwehrkanal, working out how that connects to Johannisthaler Chaussee (which is the part I know up until Waltersdorfer Chaussee), and then all the sketchy bits following the Berlin-Brandenburg boundary until I ended up in the arse of Zehlendorf, a spit away from Größer Wannsee. Then back through Steglitz. Dead weird out there. 80-ish kilometres, a bit under half the full loop, plenty of stops while I looked at my GPS track and worked out if I was going in the right direction. Gloriously beautiful fields blooming with late-spring flowers, farm life everywhere, cheerful southern Berliners everywhere. And cobbles. Oh my, cobbles. I am so, so very far from hard.
Next up is Zehlendorf up to Frohnow, via Spandau, which covers most of the route I don’t know, and gets me used to spending those hours in the saddle, something I don’t have a habit for. Then it’s just another hundred kilometres, a lot more cobbles, and that’s Paris–Roubaix.