I like the train.

She takes bicycles with her, even on local transport, even on public holidays.

It was Ascension Day, a radiantly beautiful day in May, when we went on our first bike tour.

With children.

I had chosen the Maare-Mosel-Radweg, which leads on a former railway line from the heights of the Eifel down to the Moselle.

"Cycling for pleasure" was on the website and I had promised the children: "It's only downhill", a key sentence of every successful bike tour.

I strongly recommend him.

The fact that not everything went according to plan was due to higher powers.

I protect Deutsche Bahn.

It was impossible for her to know that the entire Rhineland drives to the Eifel on Ascension Day.

By bicycle.

Platform 7 of Cologne Central Station resembled an outdoor trade fair.

Panniers in neon yellow, panniers in neon green, panniers in neon red, all waterproof and patented folded, drinking bottles, backpacks, the latest clip-on handlebar bags, reflective bicycle helmets and mountain, urban, city, racing and trekking bikes covered the platform as the regional train rolled up.

It was the shortest train that ever pulled into Cologne Central Station.

He had two half bike compartments.

We would have filled one of them ourselves, assuming the train had been empty.

But it was full.

People ran as if they were about to storm a fortress, raising their air pumps like spears, seizing train doors, wedged themselves in the passageways and screaming for their children, who were no longer to be seen.

The conductor stood obediently on the platform and trusted the capillary action of the train, which gradually sucked the struggling cyclists into the train.

I only saw him again shortly before Gerolstein.

He climbed along the crest of the bicycle mountain that was piling up between the rows of seats and checked the tickets at a safe height.

I asked him why the railway didn't add extra wagons on bridge days.

Then he bent down and whispered in my ear: "Tell that to those up there." At that moment I felt that I was in God's hands at Deutsche Bahn.

That was the beginning of a great love.

Love is now limitless.

I admire the train.

I admire their service, their organizational talent, their offers.

Ever since the 9-euro ticket has been available, every day has been Ascension Day for me.

The journeys are pilgrimages to happiness.

We cyclists praise the trains that make it to the stations, we are happy when our bikes fit in, and we cross ourselves when the trains depart, because where the journey is going, only God knows, not only on Ascension Day.

praise of Switzerland

In general, the customs.

They vary from country to country and train to train, and cyclists are well advised to train their flexibility.

It also doesn't hurt to master a few lifting figures, because getting into the wagons requires skill.

I recommend e-bikers to drive to the train station before the trip and try to carry the bike onto the platform.

It is important that the bike is well packed and that the station has decent stairs.

If you get up, you can make it into any train, assuming a certain flexibility.

However, the hurdles are higher abroad.

I did an acrobatics course on the way to Geneva, with an audience at the same time.

Like all Swiss trains, the train was very punctual and very clean.

A hanger was embedded in the roof of the wagon, resembling the hooks on which the butcher strings sausages.

In front of it was a flap.

That's where the bike should go.

So I take off the panniers, stand behind the bike, pull it up by the handlebars and aim for the target under the ceiling with pendulum movements.

This exercise brings me the first warm applause from the attentive passengers.