I was Eastward bound, he Westward. His stories were unfolding in The Netherlands, mine in Germany. As nonsensical as it seems, we saw logic in meeting half way.
I would ride North, he South. It would be 150kms in the wrong direction, if we knew where we were going. But as the old adage goes, if you don’t, then every path will take you there.
Love is about as good a reason as any, so for one short sleepless night, our paths would cross. We met by the library, saddle between our legs, in Koblenz. A beer, then a ride out of town for a cosy campsite. Firelit conversation, tales of eachothers journeys recounted.
One night turned into two, and soon three. Budapest called my name, and with a little universal intervention, Charlie’s was added to the list. The Danube’s whispers would be heard together.
And so another chapter with the two was pencilled in.