Today I have a reason to celebrate. Actually, two. First: I’ve wrestled the first 500 kilometers out of my bike. Second: in the process, I’ve traded 5% body fat for muscle mass and lost an additional three kilograms.

A bit of background: on August 18th of this year, I bought a mountain bike and have been a proud cyclist ever since. After spending a month (500 km!!) working rather successfully on my fitness, I decided this afternoon to ride from Kandel via Bad Bergzabern into the Palatinate Forest, aiming to collect a few elevation meters along the way.

The journey began quite comfortably. I cycled through sunlit vineyards, following the Petronella cycle path into the Palatinate highlands. By the time I passed through Bergzabern and found the bike path toward Birkenhördt, the five kilometers there were already behind me.

That’s when the more exciting part began.

From Birkenhördt, the route went straight uphill. My first 150 meters of elevation. At first along the road, later directly through the forest on reasonably rideable paths. The road only climbs gently, and I genuinely thought I’d handle an ascent like this without much trouble. Get a bit of momentum and then…

…I started shifting down, gear by gear, until I was eventually crawling uphill at a snail’s pace. Thankfully, halfway up there’s a turnoff into the forest, sparing other road users the sight of my suffering.

The climb through the woods felt slightly more forgiving, allowing my vital signs to slowly —very slowly— return to levels that no longer required emergency oxygen support. Deep breathing also helped reduce the burning in my lungs.

What goes up must come down, and so I rolled downhill into Blankenborn. I was tired, but highly motivated for what would likely be the toughest part of the day. I’d looked up a recommended MTB trail online and decided to use it for my first real off-road experience.

I was well aware that this meant overcoming another 250 meters of elevation between Blankenborn and what we might as well call Mount Silz. In short: it felt similar to the previous climb, just much, much longer.

After what felt like cycling up Mount Everest, I finally saw the last stretch of the climb after a long curve. I summoned every remaining athletic spirit within me and gave it absolutely everything. I could practically hear my lung alveoli negotiating gas exchange, every muscle fiber in my legs screamed for revenge, and it no longer made any difference whether I was pushing the pedals down or pulling them up.

Finally. Finally, I reached the long-awaited crest.

Just as my brain was preparing to bathe in a flood of dopamine, my optic nerve reported in alarm that “over there, near the fir trees,” the terrain appeared to rise again. Even as a hiker, I wouldn’t have voluntarily taken on that stretch, at least not straight on.

So I mobilized the very last reserves. I knew that if there was another climb after this, I’d have to get off the bike. But this rise—I wanted to conquer it on my bike. No matter what my face looked like at the top.

And so I did.

Over a distance of about 50 meters, the trail climbed another 15 to 20 meters. During that admittedly short stretch, I probably wasn’t thinking at all anymore. I just pedaled and tried to ignore everything my body was strongly suggesting would be more reasonable than dragging a damn bike up a damn hill just to ride back down on the other side.

When I reached the top, I had no feeling left in my legs. My knees were jelly. My lungs screamed for oxygen. I wasn’t entirely sure I’d make it home.

But I hadn’t gotten off the bike.

That was the point. And I’m genuinely proud of that.

I was rewarded for the effort with a stunning view over the sunlit Rhine Plain, and of course I used the nearby quiet clearing for an extended break. I’ll admit it: I spent ten minutes just staring at the sky. Once my knees stopped shaking and my blood pressure felt vaguely human again, I moved on to the far more pleasant part.

The descent.

Contrary to my expectations, I rode the partially very narrow trail quite fast. And that’s exactly what I want to do. Sure, I was probably too cautious in places, could have done some things better, carried more speed through the corners. But I’ll take time for that later.

Today was about finding out whether I really want to go mountain biking.

And what can I say? Yes. I do.

The rest of the route was essentially a home game. Via Silz, Münchweiler, and Klingenmünster to Steinweiler, then along the railway back to Kandel.

The bike has expanded my range of movement by at least a factor of ten. By now, I’ve made it to Speyer and Landau, taken a detour into Alsace, and declared the Kandel–Bad Bergzabern route my personal home track. That’s 30 sun-drenched kilometers along one of the most beautiful wine routes in Germany, which I’ve now ridden ten times.

One thing is certain: I will hit 1,000 kilometers this year.