On the street by the slab of Berlin Wall at the northern gates to Invalidensiedlung Frohnau is one of those orange pillars marking where someone was murdered trying to escape across the Berlin Wall from East Germany. This one is for Marienetta Jirkowsky, who was murdered in 1980 at the age of eighteen, shot in the stomach.
In ten years of Berlin, I think I’ve never intentionally taken a picture of the Berlin Wall. Other things Wall, yes, but the Wall itself still feels oppressively commodified on top of oversimplified significance. Up in Invalidensiedlung Frohnau, about to turn south for the last 40-something kilometre stretch to Neukölln, having a food stop and telling myself it’s not so far, this solitary chunk way out where no tourists would spend an hour just to get get there, it seemed appropriate on the day to take this one photo.
Me at the north gate of Invalidensiedlung Frohnau, mid-peanut butter sandwich. The Berlin grot layered and ablated and re-layered like sediment in cycles of wet and dry. Took fucking hours to clean.
The farthest northern point of the Berlin Wall, the site of Invalidensiedlung Frohnau. Whether coming from the west via the Stolpe fields or east via the cobblestone tracks of Waldgelände Frohnau (and the delightfully named Jägersteig), arriving amidst the brown brick houses and tree-lined streets, like a quiet town is a calming moment and one of those uniquely Berlin creep-outs. The north gate has these parallel troughs rutted into the concrete, which confused me the first time I rode through, then realised they look like the gouges of metal tank tracks.
Bike looking all sexy on the bridge. We have good times together.
I rode the Berliner Mauerweg yesterday, October 3rd, also Tag der Deutschen Einheit. A non-day and the 30th anniversary. The wall opened November 9th, which should be the national holiday, except it’s also Kristallnacht, when the Nazis burned Synagogues and carried out pogroms in Germany against Jews. Germany often finds itself in a double bind like this, and often fails to resolve it.
My ride, the second full circuit of the Mauerweg was something of a personal celebration, a gift to myself, 16 weeks since surgery, as well as seeing physically (and all the rest) where I’m at after that. A need to know where I am in myself. And I live in this city, with this history, write about the place, so it seemed a good day to spend thinking about and moving through all this, all the people. The weather eased a little after the last days of constant rain, but still, 170km of wet, rainy, cold, windy of the mostly headwind type, muddy, dirty, actually quite grim and challenging, and very much at my physical and emotional limits. Mentally I seemed to be blasé, other than concerned with how close physically I was to the edge for the latter half. This, and writing apparently are my art-ing right now.
Here’s Bike, in her / their element, propped up on the bridge at Kontrollpunkt Dreilinden, another of my favourite parts of the Mauerweg, 3 kilometres of — once again — sand track through forest where the old Autobahn ran stopping dead on the south end of the bridge in a tank trap, to continue via Albrechts Teerofen along the canal like being far out in the countryside. Last time I was here was with Gala back in March, making a short film.
One of my favourite stretches along the Berliner Mauerweg. A detour through the obelisks at the south end of Drusenheimer Weg, along sandy single track and out into the fields. This would be the Inner Wall, the wall on the East German side. It’s truly beautiful and I could ride this all day. It continues for about 3 kilometres, plunges into forest, then spits out via a drainage trench into one of the most brutal cobble sections on the Mauerweg and some of the hardest in Berlin, the Petkusser Str. and Mozartstraße sections, 1200 metres of, “This is kind of a nice massage, wait, no, my hands and arse have gone numb, I have concussion.”
Because I always need and desire reminders to myself of how and why I do this. (Even if, in the end, I struggled.)
- eat & drink every 15–20 min
- stretch back & neck
- change saddle & hand position
- stand up often
- serve calm realness
- trans femme athletic shreddage
- Kia kaha ☽
PB stands for ‘Peanut butter and jam sandwiches’; R for ‘Rice cakes’ (home-made, pistachio, vanilla, coconut oil, cream cheese, somewhere between Asian rice pudding and baby food); C, obviously ‘Chocolate’; A for ‘Almond, nuts, fig and date energy bars’ (also home made), also ‘Awesome’, also ‘Alhamdulillah’, ’cos I needed it. Electrolyte instead of just water because I seem to prefer it. Always bananas. End realisation: fewer of A, more PB, R, C. Also even in cold and wet, dehydration is a real, unpleasant thing. Working out where to buy water and where to piss is an ongoing thing (I do have a spot beside the lake in Brandenburg where I always find myself taking a squat). Otherwise, this is my default long ride food and drink. And, there is nothing like discovering I’d packed chocolate when I’m half-way in and feeling shoddy.
Shortly after I took this photo, a cyclist, in that very Berlin, not really paying attention “I’m just riding, me,” way, rode up the grot covering the bike path, realised they had to jank hard right around the perversely located orange rubbish bin, then then hard left down the temporary construction ‘alternate route’, wobbled precariously as they saw the old Muslim woman they were about to run into who’d paused where footpath and bike lane merged and vanished into a cattle-race, wobbled right, found some dickhead had left a shitty ride-share e-bike in the lane, wove drunkenly to an almost halt wondering where exactly the town planners had intended them to ride, before continuing on in that also very Berlin, “Passive acceptance of basic shit this city can’t even manage to do right”. The old woman cut across the street, thus avoiding the endless wait at the pedestrian crossing.