The Cowbell Story

I had left behind the coast of the USA, which I had travelled from Canada to the Mexican border. It was the seventh month of my trip when I stood at the border with Mexico. By that point, I had cycled over 7,000 km. From here, I set off into the maze of national parks and the endless expanses of the USA. I had set Minneapolis as my destination, as I wanted to visit someone there.

Of the countless encounters I had throughout my trip and during my time in the USA, there is one in particular that I remember fondly.

On my way to Minneapolis, I didn't follow a set route, but simply decided each day which way to go. That's how I ended up climbing Boulder Mountain near Capitol Reef National Park. It's a 2,928-metre-high mountain pass in Utah, located on State Route 12. The road is completely paved, but quite steep in some sections.

On exactly the same day, the route of the famous Tour of Utah cycle race passed over this very mountain pass. I hadn't yet reached the top when the huge group of racing cyclists overtook me.

Once I had crossed the pass, I arrived in Torrey, the place where the cycle race had ended a few hours earlier. I was met by two men who were enthusiastically ringing cowbells at the entrance to the village. They said they had been following the cycle race and had seen me earlier with my loaded bike as I struggled up the mountain. It was a great achievement, they said. I thanked them and jokingly said that I had only arrived at the finish line a little too late, as they had already started dismantling everything.

Two days later, funnily enough, I met the same men with their wives at a campsite, where we were able to chat a little longer. They were still enthusiastic about what I was doing. I gave them my blog address and they enthusiastically assured me that they would follow my journey from now on. The next morning, there was a bag hanging on my bike with muesli bars, trail mix and all kinds of energy-boosting snacks, along with a postcard. The card was signed “Your Colorado Friends”. Since I couldn't find anyone, I thanked the “strangers” on my blog. I then received an email from Mike, one of the men who rang the cowbells back then. At the time, I was just south of Colorado Springs and it turned out that both couples live there. So I planned to visit them. I was looking forward to meeting the four of them, as they all seemed very friendly. Not far from Colorado Springs, I had my first accident. I was grazed by a car and fell. Although I wasn't seriously injured, I didn't feel able to continue cycling. I still had almost 20 km to go and had pain in my shoulder and grazes on my knees and hands.

I called one of the couples, told them what had happened and asked if someone could pick me up. Without even thinking twice, they agreed, and a little later I was sitting in Mike and Tricia's living room, freshly showered and well looked after. I spent three days with them before getting back on my bike, still a little unsure at first. I was infinitely grateful that these strangers had taken me in and cared for me as if I were their own daughter. This has led to a friendship that will probably last forever, and I know that I will always have my two families in Colorado Springs.

In total, I spent two years travelling through 15 different countries on my bicycle. People I met on my trip, or who still ask me about it, often say, ‘So, what did you like best?’ I always have to admit, ‘I can't really say for sure. Every country was special in its own way and, of course, had its pros and cons for touring by bicycle.’

The way I travelled allowed me to get to know each country and its culture very intensively. I was able to try different specialities, I stayed in a wide variety of places and types of accommodation, I saw poverty and wealth, and I marvelled at natural spectacles and breathtaking landscapes. I was often completely exposed to the weather and climate, but I was always welcomed so warmly by complete strangers. It is incredible how much kindness, trust and helpfulness I experienced all over the world. It was two years in which I spent many hours on my bicycle and covered many kilometres and metres of altitude. I had a lot of time to think. I not only got to know the world better, but definitely myself as well. The journey changed me. I learned that you don't need much to be happy. Life is not about conforming to other people's ideas and fitting in. Nor is it important how much you own. It's more about being happy, living your dreams and seeing something special in every day.