Moving to the countryside with a RAPID

August 2025 :: The Radkutsche RAPID arrives

My RAPID arrives safely via the delivery company – the cardboard box is undamaged. I unpack it, climb aboard and know exactly what my first project with the new cargo bike will be: my move to the village. Eleven kilometres from the nearest shop, the parcel collection point and my youngest’s child, and 16 kilometres from my eldest’s school… Will it work out (okay)? A personal experiment!

September :: Nature of the route

The move with the RAPID is in 1 week’s time. The route between the small town and the village follows a cycle path – physically separated from the main road – through woods and meadows, past lakes. Sometimes it’s uphill. Sometimes it’s downhill. The journey to school can be done on car-free paths. Great! The ‘No winter gritting’ signs are staring at me. I stare back. The last two kilometres before the house – where I’m staying on a temporary tenancy – wind their way along a lake on a very narrow A-road. Parts of it are a 30s zone. And 50s. Cars here have to keep a 2-metre overtaking distance or stay behind me. They should. At the side of the road, a cross marks the spot of an accident. We pass this spot twice a day. A small candle is burning. I feel incredibly guilty and my heart is racing. This short stretch is incredibly beautiful. And incredibly dangerous. We call it the hairpin piece.

October :: New Routines

Since September, we’ve been cycling at least 25 and up to 40 kilometres on 4 out of 7 days a week. Our daily routine has been reorganised. Everything revolves around the logistics of dropping off and picking up the kids, and doing the shopping. Forgotten anything? Nope. It takes me 40 minutes one way. The RAPID is brilliant! Two children, all their school and child bits and bobs, a bag for breakfast, a bag for an afternoon picnic, and an office bag with my lunch all fit in easily. In the afternoons, I pick up the shopping or parcels from the parcel station.
The children have their breakfast on the bike. I bake muesli biscuits for them. The girls share a tin. An audio drama is playing in the bike. We wave to cows, chickens and cranes. Wonderful!

It’s raining. I sort out my outfit. I pack some office clothes into another bag, as I’m sweating under my rain gear. At the end of October, I roll the bike out of the garage at sunrise. The first hoarfrost. I bundle the children into two woollen coats. I’m wearing woollen trousers and an anorak. The car and bus drivers at the hairpin bend know us. They know that we’ll pull the RAPID over to the right at the only possible spot so they can pass us in a convoy. A trucker’s greeting! A matter of honour.

November :: The Last Streetlamp

With the change of time, darkness descends on our tours. In the afternoon, after passing the small town’s signpost, we drive past the ‘last streetlamp’. Then we plunge into the pitch-black forest stretch for 25 minutes. Passing cars leave streaks of light in their wake. I fit a string of fairy lights in the cab. They can flash! We start singing loudly in the mornings and evenings.

Slippery leaves? Wind? Rain? Hello! Deer, wild boars, birds of prey – we whizz past them, sometimes yodelling, sometimes in reverence, sometimes letting out a scream of fright. A friend tells me that wolves chase cyclists because the speed triggers their hunting instinct. OK. Then comes the first dangerous situation on the hairpin bend. I completely lose it. I speak to the police. And I decide to take an alternative route over the wooded hill from now on – that’s an extra 1.5 km over desolate cobblestones, sand and a gradient of around 11 per cent, uphill or downhill. This costs me not just a few minutes, but also energy, and drains the bike’s battery completely. But it feels safer. I can rely on the RAPID. The children and I have christened it the ‘Green Wave’.

December :: First snow

Studded tyres or not? Schwalbe Pick Up or something else? For the first time in my life, I’m seriously considering the choice of the right tyres for my cargo bike. I need a stable, safe ride – snow and slippery cobblestones, as well as tree roots in the woods, are a real challenge – especially with children bobbing about in the cargo box. I pack repair kit into the cargo bike, along with seat cushions, emergency muesli bars and a hot water bottle in the mornings. I wear a high-visibility vest and wave when turning left. I buy myself a new helmet. When the first snow falls, I can’t take any photos. The ride demands my full concentration. Where are my ski goggles? We whizz through a glistening white winter forest. We make the first tracks in the snow… I’m reminded of my childhood in Austria and sing – much to the children’s chagrin – Schifoan by W. Ambros for days on end. Even the cormorants on the frozen lake are watching. The ice speaks. Hjollalamm!

January :: Body. Cake. Sick child.

To my great surprise, this is the first winter in years in which I haven’t been plagued by a persistent respiratory infection. I’m breathing a sigh of relief and am completely free of flu-like illnesses. You wouldn’t guess from looking at me that I polish off at least one or two huge slices of cake every day. I’m eating an unbelievable amount. With bright red cheeks and a bright green RAPID, we race through the Brandenburg winter. At the end of January, spring makes its gentle appearance. It’s as if, one morning, we could hear the snowdrops ringing out in the woods. A kingfisher, a pair of swans and a little owl are our companions. And yet something is missing: since we moved to the countryside, social contact has become much less frequent. Our eldest can’t make her own way to school. What sort of childhood is that? When the little one falls ill, it’s a nightmare. For the first time, I feel as though logistics are dominating our lives and absolutely nothing is allowed to go off-plan. Despite the support of dear friends from the neighbouring village, who help us out with a school run about once a week – I know – things can’t go on like this. When the little one then runs a very high fever in the night, I’m on standby with our friends from the neighbouring village, and I know: country life without a car just doesn’t work like this.

February :: Spring Motivation

In February, the little one drops her carnival doughnut from the car. One afternoon, the breakfast muesli biscuits are frozen solid in the bike basket. Even the little one gets cold because, in my springtime enthusiasm, I haven’t brought enough blankets. The plan to move back to the small town is firmly in sight.

March :: Mud

Whilst I’m scraping endless amounts of mud from the area between the mudguard and the tyres of my RAPID on the first warm weekend, I take stock: The cargo bike urgently needs new brake pads and a clean – otherwise it has come through the winter unscathed – just like the three of us. Car-free living in the countryside is doable. You really have to want it. But you need – alongside an absolutely reliable bike with plenty of carrying capacity – a solid social network and a support system…

Thank you, Karen from Runde Reise, for sharing your experience!