Alpine tour by gravel bike: Bikepacking tour from Garmisch-Partenkirchen to Königssee
Karen Eller
· 13.06.2020
The bottle flies out of the holder for the umpteenth time when the bike jumps over a root. I pick it up again and clamp it under the expander on my pannier. Maybe this just isn't the right route for me and my heavily laden gravel bike? A fine single trail that winds its way downhill over wooded ground, dotted with roots and stones. The late afternoon sun shines through the deciduous forest. Actually, everything was exactly to my liking. But with a cooker, cooking pot, sleeping bag, tent, spare clothes and a few other things neatly stowed in two panniers on the front and rear pannier rack, the dream trail is unrideable. That's why I've been pushing my bike downhill for some time now, in the hope that it won't go on like this for too much longer. Otherwise I'll have a problem. I want to arrive before nightfall. My destination must be where I can already see the snow-covered peaks of the Berchtesgaden Alps in the distance: the Königssee.
This lake has been on my to-do list for a long time - but at the bottom, as the last item. The fact that it made it onto the list at all is due to a picture that greets me every day. The Königssee glistens in a thick golden frame on an old oil painting. I can't even say exactly where I got it, but even after many moves it has always found its place: it hangs in the loo. Anyway, I've never been to this lake and wasn't actually planning to this spring either. I tend to dream of warmer destinations: Italy, Spain, sun, sea. But I'm spending this pandemic spring at home with my husband and two children. Home-schooling, cooking, washing and shopping determine my everyday life. The police check and warn me not to leave the district. I'm annoyed and urgently need to get out of the coronavirus rut. In the toilet, I get an idea: the picture, the lake under the Watzmann, in the south-easternmost corner of Germany. I want to go there!
I immediately plan a bike route along the German-Austrian border, with as few tarmac sections as possible and hidden in the mountains - I don't want to get checked. No police officer would probably understand what a compelling reason it is for me to leave the house. Hotels are closed, so the tent comes with me. Restaurants and bars are closed, the gas cooker is packed away. From Garmisch-Partenkirchen to Königssee, the planning tool shows: around 250 kilometres, 4,200 metres in altitude. I have three days to do it. A farewell kiss from the family in the early, cloudy morning. Wisps of mist drift over Lake Geroldsee and I breathe in the fresh air, enriched with something that feels like freedom.
I quickly get used to the fact that the bike, which weighs 22 kilos with luggage, is more cumbersome to steer than usual. But it rolls great. A gravel path leads me to the Isar. I'm travelling alone. After a good two hours, a fat barrier above the road stops my journey. At this point, my route crosses Austrian territory for a short stretch. The diversions would be too long on the Bavarian side. But the border crossing to Tyrol is closed. It makes me sad to think about how easy it used to be to cross the border. I look around nervously before crawling under the barrier with my bike to this gravel track on the Tyrolean side, which should soon take me back to Bavaria. I'm a little scared. Am I perhaps being followed? Adrenalin drives me to flee, I pedal hard and can barely turn the crank, the path is so steep. I climb as fast as I can and see a sign in the not-too-distant distance that makes me breathe a sigh of relief: Welcome to Bavaria! The romantic chapel behind it comes in handy. Exhausted, I sink onto its wooden bench. The bread roll I made at home tastes three times as good. Invigorated, I roll relaxed along the Weißach to Rottach-Egern, where I stop in front of a corner shop to stock up for dinner. I almost forget to pull up my face mask, I'm already so far removed from everyday life.
Cold nights: hoar frost on the tent
A long pass road leads me to my destination for the day near the Spitzingsee. There is an inviting-looking inn at the top. I pull over. Two fully bearded men are sitting at separate tables on the terrace. They are enjoying the evening light shining through between the peaks. A beer, that's it now. There's a big sign on the front door: "Temporarily closed due to coronavirus." I greet the two Bavarian originals and ask them for a place for my tent. "Everywhere and nowhere," mumbles one of them into his beard. The other looks at me a little sympathetically, and as if he can read my mind, he fishes a beer out of his rucksack and hands it to me. Shortly afterwards, I find a wonderful spot. An ice-cold beer, a campsite with a fantastic mountain backdrop, the rising full moon and bubbling pasta water on the cooker - there's nothing better for me at this moment.
The next morning, the first rays of sunshine turn the hoar frost on the tent walls into drops of water. I enjoy the sun and an espresso. As I roll down the pass road, I could scream with happiness. Worries, fears and the stress of the last few weeks evaporate in the breeze. Around midday I reach the road to the Sudelfeld Pass, normally a stronghold of motorcyclists. Not today. Riding a motorbike for pure pleasure is currently prohibited. I stop at a small viewing point and grab a muesli bar. Two motorcyclists ride past and are rewarded with a lonely pass road. By now I'm so familiar with my loaded bike that I'm rushing through hairpin bends with more and more courage, enjoying the wind and the speed. Time is also racing by, far too fast.
After a good night's sleep in the tent, I am greeted the next day by the Berchtesgadener Land. The terrain becomes rougher and rockier and snow-capped peaks rise into the sky in the distance. Flowers bloom in all colours, the young grass is lush green. The pass I'm on is the last one before the Königssee. I had put a small round sign here in my route plan. It is brown and means "push route". And so I push over this dream of a singletrack trail, collect my water bottle with a patience that is normally alien to me and breathe in the scent of the deciduous forest. As it clears, an alpine hut appears in front of me - and the last gravel descent of my tour. Before I fly down, I enjoy the afternoon sun on a bench in front of the hut. I actually want to ride further than just to Königssee, one more day and one more. Why does Corona have to come first for me to discover how beautiful my homeland is? Then it appears around a bend. Dark, deep, surrounded by high peaks: the Königssee, just as I recognise it from my oil painting. I dangle my tired feet in the cold water over a beer on the shore. Closed pubs, barricaded jetties, ice cream vendors with face masks, hardly any people. My coronavirus break is over. Back home, I'm sitting on the loo, looking at the Königssee painting and dreaming of freedom and the lake, which may soon never be the same again as I was able to experience it. And which has been at the bottom of my to-do list for far too long.
