Preferably in a row

Today was a good day. We easily covered almost 600 kilometers. And do you know what that was about? I'll tell you: I followed my instincts.

We only had one kilometer from our parking space - the night was super quiet - to the A5 motorway. Unlike on Sunday, there was a lot of activity. This was primarily due to the many trucks traveling towards Frankfurt. My heart skipped a beat because: For me there can't be too many of these steel colossi.

I love hanging behind a truck in my motorhome - the bigger the better - or joining an endless queue of these monsters made of steel and sheet metal. I feel comfortable here, somehow at home. Maybe I was a truck driver in a past life, who knows?

Despite my feelings, in the past I have always struggled with run-of-the-mill cars in the fast lane. After all, there were good arguments for it: reach your destination sooner, get more out of the day, just get out of this tar desert quickly - I know them all, after all, I've heard them 1000 times from my... Oh, let's leave that!

Back on the highway. What's so great about being a small link in an endless chain of trucks? Rolling stupidly for hours at 90 km/h behind a huge plastic tarpaulin that flutters in the wind a few arm's lengths in front of your windshield. What's there to love about it? A good question… It’s relaxing for me. I just stay a good distance behind the man in front of me. I can enjoy the landscape much better than if I had to constantly accelerate and brake, swerve, cut in, estimate distances and speeds. It's relaxing for me. When Icke complains: “Oh dear, 200 kilometers left!” I get really sad: “Oh dear, only 200 kilometers left!”

And there is another aspect: My motorhome can carry 140 things on the slopes without any major problems. That's just a tiny bit of pressure on the accelerator pedal. Knowing this, among all these giants steaming out of the side windows at 100 km/h, you feel like... yes, like a marathon runner in a five-kilometer fun run. You jog casually with a group of kids or beginners, make a few jokes and exude a good mood. Until the ambitious ones pick up the pace and, panting and sweating, pass you by as a matter of course. You nod at them appreciatively with a respectful smile and think to yourself: If only my little toe moves faster, I'll blow you into the bushes with my air suction.

OK. I admit it. The comparison is a bit flawed. The trucks and their drivers can't even smile at the suction of air from my motorhome because they don't even notice it. But you know what I mean: It's a nice feeling to know: I could if I wanted to. But I don't have to want to just because I can. Or something like that …

PS: Then it occurred to me that this is a travel blog. We spend the night in Neuenburg am Rhein, just before the French border, in a large parking lot right next to a circus. We have cracked the 1000 kilometer mark. Tomorrow we're going 500 kilometers to Clermont-Ferrand, our only stop in France, and the day after tomorrow we'll be in Spain, in the sun and by the sea.