In the morning, it was more Marx. At first light, we sought out the house where he was born. On the way, we rode under banners saying ‘Wir sind Marx’, announcements at the museum of a special display concerning Marx, and yet another visit to the statue.
Soon our early train would depart from Trier, to wind our way northwards, via Hamburg and a technical breakdown on the rail bottleneck north of Hamburg, eventually via an odd collection of regional trains to Kolding station deep in the night.
From Kolding to Christianfeld is 17 kilometres, through the countryside and without roadside lights. She has a simple flashing light that might do for town riding, but not in these conditions. Fortunately, I have a dynamo light that shines up the heavens and the earth. So I rode in front, lighting the way forward on a pitch-black night. A little before midnight, we rode into the village, returning to the point from which we had begun a month earlier. Over more than 1500 kilometres, much had changed in our sense of life, but we would find out only as the weeks and months unfolded.