Last days of honeymoon, complete the circuit to Munich, human scales and harmonies, peopled paths, a gentle and loved park with sculpted streams running through it where we watch a multi generational cadre of surfers queue up to ride a standing wave between bridges.
Muse that the cycling has gotten out of hand here and we’re only half kidding: woe to be the pedestrians or drivers or (startlingly many, but surely tourists) Segway pilots who obliquely beg like neglected guests on the roads and lanes. We pedal shoulder to wheel with commuters, cargo bikes, grocery filled panniers and puppy baskets, high heeled summer minidress business slacks basketball shorts. Two older men in short sleeved collared shirts, pens and glasses riding side by side chatting, imagine them on break from a desk jobs in one of the nearby German precision aesthetic office parks. Munich is crowded and churning with cyclists, there’s a kinetic beauty to it even if there’s a hint of riders having lapsed in their regard for other ways of getting around.
We resist heading too far into the futures of plane travel and readjustment to home, untense onto our beer garden high table stools, smile with a gigantic pretzel and watch the summertime.