We biked away from Dachau, once again at the late hour of 2PM. Feeling saddened from all we'd seen, we took to the German bicycle path leaving the site for a quiet, grey afternoon of meditative cycling.
We wound our way through green fields, pedaling in silence, counting our blessings, trying to wrap our heads around the unfathomable violence we'd read about this morning.
On and off, the dark skies opened up for bouts of rain, sometimes heavy, sometimes not. Our mostly dirt bicycle paths got a little muddy, but nowhere near as messy as the rainy Serbian bike path we encountered a few months ago.
With a family of cyclists up ahead, we dinged our bells, announcing our presence and alerting them to the fact we'd be passing them. When they greeted our "hallo"s with normal English-sounding "hi"s and "hello"s, we rode alongside them for awhile, chatting. They were a father (Jerry) and his two sons, Frank and Alex, out for a ride near their home.
Originally from England, they had moved a great deal. With both parents working as school teachers, the family had chosen to spend several years in one spot before moving on to another. They have lived in several countries, but their most recent home (before Germany) was Tanzania!
Cheered a bit by our new acquaintances, we parted ways, they to their home, and us to ours. The sun was setting when we rode past a good forested free-camp and decided to call it a night. With such a late start, and not much motivation to pedal very hard, we had travelled a paltry 40 kilometers, most of it round-about and curving. A very short day, even by our standards.
It was a little disheartening when Tyler looked at our GPS and declared that Munich was only 20-some kilometers away, "as the crow flies." Ah well. One of these days we'll cover some ground.