Where I’m spending the weekends this summer, there are lots of forests and water. The water has damaged the road, so now drainage systems are being built to divert the water from the forest under the road. This means the route to our house has been extended by an impractical 35 km detour. The detour winds through the densest forest, because the previous shortcut over the streams has been transformed into a water landscape by protected beavers, which even off-road vehicles can’t traverse. Hence, our tiny village seems to be at the end of the world in a cul-de-sac, which barely bothers the residents except when they need to run errands. Visitors, however, are often annoyed since the detour is poorly marked and not all GPS systems show the way.

For my shopping, I now use my bicycle and cross the ditch on foot. This has worked well so far, but it feels like an obstacle course. You ride 500 meters, and then suddenly: dismount, lift the bike, perform a challenging balancing act – especially difficult with the bike on your shoulder – and then continue to the bakery.

Last Sunday morning, to reach the open bakery, I got on my bike early to fetch fresh, fragrant rolls for breakfast. But this time, things didn’t go as planned. Halfway through, there was a huge excavator in the middle of the forest and several vehicles on the other side of the ditch. The excavator was digging deep, and I was surprised to see so many workers on a Sunday morning. The ditch was wide, and even without the bike on my shoulder, I’d barely have a chance to cross it. With the bike on my shoulder, it was pure illusion. On one side of the ditch, there were dense, thorny bushes, clearly signaling: “I’ll make you pay in blood if you dare to come through here!” The other side was filled with water, and the ditch next to the road was also wide. So, I stood there, beside my bike, wondering which crossing option would cause the least damage. Turning back or navigating through the dense forest were not options for me.

Suddenly, the excavator stopped digging, and the driver waved to me. I looked at him incredulously. Could he help me? Then I saw that he had positioned the excavator bucket at the edge of the ditch. The bucket was wide enough that I could use it as a bridge with my bike. He gestured towards the bucket, and I realized he was serious.

I climbed onto the bucket, and with his help, I crossed the dug-out ditch. It felt like a scene from Titanic, as I hovered with my bike on the unsecured excavator bucket over the huge hole. This is certainly strictly forbidden, but I was incredibly grateful for his help! Once on the other side, I waved to him. He waved back and resumed digging.

The moral of this story may vary depending on the viewer. For me, this experience will certainly remain in my drawer of unforgettable memories.

Enjoy the summer!