Close to Trzebiez, 04-07-2001. There is an exodus of german holiday makers overtaking me on the road to the Polish border, European made mobile homes and Volkswagen cars containing whole families with bored children whose days is brightened up by the sight of me on my rusty old lady, tent and sleeping bag tied to the back, bicycle bags with spare parts, some clean clothes and my cherished sketchbook. I see them again at one of the next Rastplätze where the family has set up camping tables and plastic chairs, relaxing themselves like they gonna stay the night, their kids storming over when I disembark painfully from the hard saddle, stiff upper leg muscles giving me a hard time unbuckling them. The family's dog in hot pursuit barking like there is a wild boar in sight.
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