Touring with Ted

Ted Withycombe basic training portrait. Blake Chelmsford.  Click image to enlarge.

 

I just read today that my old Army buddy Ted Withycombe died last November in 2017. Ted and I had not kept in touch after our Army service, so it was a spur-of-the-moment Internet search that found his obituary. It brought back some old memories of my friendship with Ted, particularly the bicycle trips we made in Europe together. My sincere condolences to his family and friends.

 

Against Our Will, by Susan Brownmiller

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Ted and I were billeted together on the Husterhöh Kaserne for the last six months of my Army service in Pirmasens, Germany, but we had become friends prior to that, finding common interest in reading, primarily history and literature. When I first met Ted, he was reading Susan Brownmiller’s recently published Against Our Will: Men, Women and Rape. Ted felt it was an important book, and talked about it passionately. It was my first introduction to feminist literature; I would venture to guess that Ted was the only person in our unit who was even aware at that time of such writings. We would share our readings with other bibliophiles, like David Ball and Jim Carnoway. Ted was on the quiet side, and tended to be serious and earnest about his reading, but had a stealthy sense of humor, wry and sardonic.

Ted and I liked regular exercise; we became running partners for a while, and played pickup soccer together with other soldiers. We once attended an epic professional soccer game between the local FK Pirmasens side and the mighty FC Bayern München. We even ran stairs together as I was training for the ski trip I planned to take immediately following my discharge from the military.

Many of the GI’s in our unit stayed close to our base, travelling more occasionally, spending more of their leisure time at the enlisted men’s club, the Rod and Gun club, drinking in local Gasthäuser or partying in the barracks. On the other end of the spectrum, some of us traveled extensively, happy to take advantage of our European locale. Ted, David and I numbered among the travelers; Jim never traveled, to my disappointment. Jim was one of the last of the draftees, and had been drafted after completing a college education in Art History. Several of us tried to coax him into weekend day trips, because his knowledge of art and cultural history was a treasure trove – he would have made an invaluable and entertaining traveling companion. But he was immovable, saving his money for goals beyond his military service.

For myself, I traveled regularly, often with friends I had made on other Army bases. David Ball and I once made a whirlwhind 3-day trip to Northern Italy in my beat-up Volkswagen Bug. Ted traveled a good deal, also, but often traveled on his own. He and I did take a day trip to Heidelberg together via the train, which I wrote about here. But the majority of our travel together was via bicycle rides in the surrounding area. We both thought one of the best ways of exploring the local region was on our bikes. We would try to read some of the history of the area we were to ride through; Ted was usually more thorough, and thus more knowledgeable, and would often assume the role of tourist guide.

 

Both of us had purchased cheap Peugeot 10-speed bicycles from the PX, with leather cages on the foot-pedals, which could be tightened down to keep the feet from slipping off of the pedals, and untightened quickly when we had to stop. These bicycles were relatively sturdy, but had cottered crankshafts, a design wherein the pedal arms were attached to the crankshaft with a wedged cotter key. Under the pressure of heavy pedaling, these wedges would wear and loosen, so we carried both a wrench to re-tighten them, and spare cotter keys to replace those overly worn. To replace them required first a hammer to remove them, which we did not carry because of excess weight, so we would stop at a farmhouse and ask to borrow a hammer. (“Darf ich mir bitte einen Hammer ausleihen, um mein Fahrrad zu reparieren?” “May I borrow a hammer to repair my bicycle?” My German was serviceable for travel and simple conversation, but my French, not so much: The question “Avez-vous un marteau?” “Do you have a hammer?”, when followed by a beseeching look and a shake of the wobbly pedal worked just as well. We were never refused, to the credit of our newly-found friends.)

Together on our bikes, we began to explore the area within and around Pirmasens. To ride in this part of the Rheinland-Pfalz was to encounter hill after hill. The Husterhöh Kaserne sat at the top of a 500 ft high hill (“Huster Heights”), so any departure required a brisk climb to return home. Ted often lead up the longer hills, but otherwise we both rode at a similar pace, and found each other’s company enjoyable. So we planned and executed some longer rides, some of which are still vivid in my memory.

Our first and second long rides together were across the border into France. Pirmasens is situated within 15 kilometers of the border between Germany and France. We were in fact within the Grenzzone, the border zone that was patrolled by the Grenzpolizei, the border police, who had extraordinary powers, as a few GI’s drunk and a little surly on a Saturday night in town found to their regret. Both of us had read a certain amount of European history, in particular the history of World War II, and were aware that these opposing border zones we were living in and riding through were the locale of la Ligne Maginot (The French Maginot Line) and der Westwall (The German Siegfried Line), heavily fortified and interconnected forts that were positioned across from each other along the border of Alsace and Lorraine, built between the world wars. Our own base, die Husterhöh Kaserne, was connected into the Westwall fortifications via tunnels and underground storage facilities. The U.S. Army moved out of the Kaserne in the mid-90’s, but today still stores medical equipment in those Westwall underground storage facilities.

Our first long ride was in the spring of 1975, a day trip from Pirmasens to Bitche, France und zurück. (“and back.” This phrase was well-known to any GI’s who used the trains for travel. To buy a one-way ticket, the phrase was “Bitte, ich möchte eine einfache Fahrkarte nach Kaiserlautern.” “Please, I would like a one-way (simple) ticket to Kaiserslautern.” More typically, we bought return tickets, so the phrase became “”Bitte, ich möchte eine Fahrkarte nach Kaiserlautern und zurück.”)

Ligne Maginot Ouvrage Simserhof. Attrib: Franconia, CC BY-SA 3.0.

 

In the vicinity of Bitche was le Gross Ouvrage Simserhof, a large fort in the Maginot Line system, a portion of which was open to the public and maintained as a museum, which we intended to visit. In those days before the Internet, credit cards, etc., travel was a bit more blind. We really had no idea how difficult the terrain was going to be when we rode a new route, having no access to topographical maps. We started out early, each wearing a backpack to carry food and drink, and in a couple of hours and 20 miles later, riding through the usual hilly countryside, we arrived in Bitche. We lunched at a cheap cafe, drank some local Pinot Noir wine, and spent a few hours underground in the immense Maginot Line fort. Each of the forts in this system were complete underground cities, with small-gauge rail systems to connect the smaller and larger facilities and forts. We were both blown away by the size and scope of the defenses, famously ignored (mostly) by the Germans, who made an end-run around them through Belgium into France in 1940 to occupy France, and drove British troops back to England. The return ride felt arduous, but we were young and recovered quickly.

Finding this trip together a success, we planned another day trip later that spring to Wissembourg, France, at 27 miles each way a longer ride into similar Alsatian wine territory, and also on the old Maginot Line. Ted as usual led the way up the longer hills, waiting for me at the top, and we arrived eager to eat, drink and explore. We checked out another Maginot line fort, and found the city charming and the food and wine good, even though we bought only the least expensive fare. Our ride back was not easy, but neither of us were deterred by the amount of energy we expended.

Flush with the success of two bicycle adventures, we planned a three day bike ride during the 4th of July extended weekend through three countries: Germany, Luxembourg and France. Neither of us had ever ridden more than a day at a time, or farther than maybe 60 miles round trip. All in all, we would be riding around 230 miles in 3 days, for us a very ambitious undertaking! Probably the biggest unknown was just how hilly these rides were going to be – recently I determined that we climbed over 13,000 feet in those three days, not much for a Tour de France rider, but an ongoing and perpetually surprising challenge for us at the time. We planned to ride our first one day 100 mile ride, from Pirmasens to Luxembourg City, sleep outdoors, ride from there to Metz, France and again sleep outdoors, then ride back to Pirmasens for the last leg. We would ride with the usual backpack and additionally with a light sleeping bag slung below the backpack. We planned, that is hoped, for good weather, and had enough money for cheap food, and maybe enough for a night’s cheap lodging in the event of rain, or, alternatively, enough for train fare back. To say that we planned the trip is an overstatement. We had few resources for any unforseen circumstances, perhaps as it should be for a couple of twenty-something soldiers.

Saar Loop, viewed from above Keuchingen. Attrib: Franzfoto, CC BY-SA 3.0.

 

Around 7:00 am on a pleasant Friday, July 4, 1975, we rolled down the hill towards Petersberg, and on to our first intermediate target Saarbrücken, some 44 miles distant. Reaching Saarbrücken meant reaching the Saar river valley. We rode north on the east bank of the Saar for another 30 miles, before crossing the river at Mettlach. Most of this first 2/3 of the ride were verdant rolling hills, some of it so rural that we could ride side-by-side and converse. We stopped a couple of times at a Gasthaus along the way, to refill our water bottles, eat some food, and restore ourselves. We hit the first steep hill just short of Mettlach, 70 miles into the ride, an 8% half-mile beast. Going over the top of this, with Mettlach in sight below us on the Saar river, we were really feeling the effort, and promised ourselves a late-afternoon stop at a Gasthaus for another rest and for the first time in the day, a beer, before our final 30 mile push into Luxembourg City. We flew down the hill and through Mettlach, but saw no Gasthäuser on our path, crossed the river into Keuchingen, and were immediately climbing up what turned out to be a 2 mile hill with 6% gradient! About a mile into the hill, disappointed that we hadn’t found a rest place and seeing nothing but hill in front of us, we stopped by the side of the road, temporarily deflated. After a few minutes of catching our breath, and looking down on the horseshoe bend of the Saar river Loop, we remounted our bikes and slowly completed the climb, having no other option but to press on. Within 10 more tough miles we began a descent from the hills into the Moselle river valley, which forms the border between Germany and Luxembourg at Remich.

American Cemetery, Luxembourg City. PD-USGOV.

 

It was now nearly 7:00pm, and we only had 11 miles left to Luxembourg City. But we now had a better understanding of our route: Each time we crossed in and out of a river valley, we would have considerable climbs through the hills that formed those valleys. Our last 11 miles were mostly uphill climbing out of the Moselle valley, and our endurance was nearly used up. On our way through the outskirts of Luxembourg City we passed the American Cemetery and Memorial, where the Battle of the Bulge dead were buried, along with General Patton, who died just after the war while serving in the occupation force. We arrived in the city center around 8:00pm, 13 hours after we started, grimy and pooped but proud that we had ridden the longest ride of our lives. We found well-maintained public shower facilities which provided private showers, clean towels and soap for a nominal fee, happily cleaned up, and spirits restored, then found a local restaurant and consumed some local cuisine and beer. When you feel famished, everything tastes great! We still had an hour of daylight to find a suitable camping place, and ended up riding back towards the American Cemetery, where in the woods nearby we locked up our bikes, threw our sleeping bags on the ground, and slept the sleep of the near dead.

Oriental plane trees shading a French road. Attrib: Max Pixel, CC0.

 

The next morning we arose to a cloudy sky, packed our things, and plotted the day’s events. We decided that, since our second day’s target city, Metz, France, was only 45 miles away and our path stayed near the Moselle river, making it likely fairly flat, we would have time to first tour the American Cemetery before departing. We walked quietly among the graves of those American servicemen who fought in the Ardennes forest in the winter of 1944-1945, most of them young men around our age, and paused at General Patton’s memorial. Riding back into Luxembourg City, we stopped at a bakery for some pastries, filled up our water bottles, and rode at a more leisurely pace across the Petrusse river via the Adolphe bridge. We both enjoyed the beauty of Luxembourg, with its deep gorges and many medieval structures. Heading south, we rode through the Moselle valley into France, often shaded by large plane trees lining rural sections of the road. The flat terrain was a relief after the challenging roads of the day before.

Metz, France, Porte des Allemands (the German gate), from 1230 CE. Attrib: Marc Ryckaert, CC BY 3.0.

 

We arrived in Metz later in the afternoon, locked up our bikes, cleaned up again in similar public showers, and toured the city on foot for several hours, with Ted serving as an ad hoc tour guide. Metz was an important city on and off for over 2,000 years, first as a Celtic fort, then as a principal town of Gaul under the Romans, then as a principal city of the Merovingians, and later, Austrasia, the predecessor region to Alsace-Lorraine formed after the death of Charlemagne. There was little to see from these times, but much from later medieval times, with fortifications and crenellated towers, and beautiful churches, particularly the 13th century Gothic St. Stephen’s Cathedral. There was architectural evidence of the 1st German occupation of Alsace-Lorraine in 1871, including a major Protestant Church, Le Temple Neuf, the new temple, built on an island in the river Moselle.

Metz, France, street cafe. Attrib: Nicola, CC BY 2.0.

 

We relaxed in the Parc de l’esplanade until it began to sprinkle rain, so we found a comfortable Brasserie for dinner and beer, and hoped that the rain would not persist. But it continued to rain sporadically, so we faced a choice: With no tents, should we get a room for the night? After much debate, we decided to sleep under a bridge, and it worked out OK: We stayed dry and slept well, and in the morning were fortunate to find the weather cloudy but dry. We prepared for our last days’s ride of maybe 80 miles back to Pirmasens, stopping first for a breakfast and for water, and off we went.

Sarreguemines, France. Attrib: atreyu, CC BY-SA 4.0.

 

The last day proved to be almost as hard as the first, as it was very hilly, with a lot of medium climbs, the result of the fact that we ended up crossing into and out of six river valleys: Starting in the Moselle valley, we traversed the Nied francaise, Nied allemande, our old friend the Saar, the Blies and finally the Horn valleys. The countryside was beautiful and green, with many farms and some vineyards, and, as was typical of our entire ride, villages every few miles. In the southern Saar valley we took respite in Sarreguemines in a local bistro, now 50 miles into the ride. Shortly thereafter we crossed the border into Germany. The ride never got easy, so we finally decided to press on to Pirmasens before we fell off of our bikes, loading up drinking water and candy bars to consume on the bike. Ted suggested that we reward ourselves with steak and eggs at a restaurant near the Kaserne, and the anticipation of that meal drove me all the way up the final climb back into Pirmasens, for the first time from the southwest. Without any clean-up, we dragged ourselves into the local, where we found some of our friends, and over steak and eggs, additional portions of pommes frites (french fries) and of course, beer, we regaled them with tales of our adventures as we slowly restored some strength back into our tired bodies. We were sore for a few days afterwards, but no regrets: What a ride!

Early that autumn Ted and I rode the last of our bigger rides together. On a nice autumn day, we rode from Pirmasens up to the Vogelweh Kaserne in Kaiserslautern, around 20 miles, to meet some friends. We ended up playing soccer with them for a couple of hours, with no thought to the energy needed to ride back home. We finally departed back to Pirmasens, finishing up the long hill from Rodalben to the Kaserne, for the first time Ted following rather than leading me up the hill. All the expenditure of energy was worth it, though!

I was fortunate to find in Ted a friend who was willing to explore our corner of Europe together, particularly using a mode of transportation that required so much exertion. God speed, Ted.