"Our gravel adventure through the Black Forest begins – chaotic, sweaty and simply unforgettable.“ As opening sentences for gravel riding adventures go, that one takes some beating! Timo Rokitta decided that he wanted a proper gravelly adventure and set off for a multi-day bikepacking ride through Germany’s Black Forest. Want to find out how he gets on, then click past the link…..

"The start of our adventure feels more like an obstacle course than the beginning of a bikepacking dream."

Even before a single tyre touches the Black Forest, one thing is clear: this adventure won’t be a walk in the park. It’s early morning as we stand at the train station with fully loaded bikes and a slightly over-caffeinated mix of excitement and anticipation. The reality? Delays, cancelled trains and annoyed announcements from the platform. A short sprint here, frantic re-planning there. The start of our adventure feels more like an obstacle course than the beginning of a bikepacking dream. Four hours and a few grey hairs later, we finally roll into Pforzheim. The sky is steel blue, our legs tingling – from excitement or impatience, who knows. We deliberately chose this starting point: this is where the "real" Black Forest begins – according to the maps, the locals and now us.

Barely rolling, the Black Forest greets us head-on with its first climb. Straight out of town, it goes steeply uphill. No warm-up, no mercy. In return: pounding hearts, steaming calves – and the first glimpse into lush green. After a few kilometers of forest floor, our rhythm settles. The first highlight: crossing the Nagold river. Shortly after, we turn onto a narrow, playful singletrack – pure nature, roots, moss and suddenly: two massive tree trunks blocking the trail. No way around. So, shoulder the bikes, find balance, climb over. Gravel deluxe.

Not long after, the forest opens up and wide gravel roads embrace us like a soft carpet. Then: a descent. Fast, long, a bit daring – and absolutely brilliant. In the Enz valley, the river roars and we follow the Große Enz upstream to Bad Wildbad, where the next reward awaits.

Café “M” sits unassumingly on a corner – we nearly miss it. Inside it smells like coffee, outside a hand-painted sign reads: "Cake like grandma's." We stay – and have zero regrets. Iced coffee, apple crumble, feet up, long gazes into green. A real hidden gem – peaceful and cozy, made for tired gravel bikers.

"Elevation meters rack up like bonus points in a video game."

But the break is deceptive – the hardest climb of the day is still ahead. Into the forest again, up toward a high plateau. 20% gradient. Eight kilometers of continuous climbing. Conversation fades, gazes become fixed, bodies switch to energy-saving mode. One pedal stroke at a time. Sweat pours, elevation meters rack up like bonus points in a video game. And then – suddenly – we’ve made it. At the top. The effort gives way to euphoria. A sun-drenched plateau stretches out before us, criss-crossed by perfect gravel tracks. The bikes glide as if on autopilot, dust flies, smiles return. Gravel paradise.

The day ends with a final descent – fast, curvy, exhilarating. And at the bottom awaits Enzklösterle. A small village framed by forest, quiet, almost forgotten. We find a room, wash off the day's dirt – and collapse into bed, legs tired, but hearts full.

Day 2 kicks off without preamble. Barely have we pedalled the first strokes before the path climbs steeply upward again. The trail winds to a plateau as if testing how serious we are about this journey. Muscles burn, lungs strain – but at the top: reward. Expansive, dreamlike tracks made for flow and freedom.

But the Black Forest has a mind of its own. Just as euphoria sets in, a double logging truck blocks our way – both vehicles crosswise, no way through. Standstill. We wait, watch, laugh a bit helplessly – and improvise.

After Seewald, a long downhill – usually a joy. But at the bottom, the next surprise: our planned singletrack is overgrown with ferns and thorns. Totally impassable. Plan B – re-think the route.

"Outside the storm rages, inside we create Route 2.0."

From Huzenbach in the Murg valley, the Black Forest returns to its rugged form. The climb spirals mercilessly upward – more than 20 percent. A wall. Every pedal stroke is a test of courage. But the thought of our goal – the secluded Huzenbach Lake – keeps us going. And indeed: at the top, the forest opens magically. The lake lies still, framed by dense green, as if someone forgot it here – a natural idyll that etches itself deeply into memory. The effort? Instantly forgotten. Instead: calm, wonder, awe.

But the weather shows no mercy. As we reach Baiersbronn, a threatening wall of dark clouds towers above us. The wind picks up, the smell of rain fills the air – and then it happens fast: hail pelts down, the sky unleashes. At the last moment, we find shelter in a small café called delikaaat! – a warm, fragrant refuge with homemade cake and real charm. A stroke of luck. We dry off, laugh and replan. Outside the storm rages, inside we create Route 2.0.

As the clouds slowly clear, we continue – via Freudenstadt to Zwieselberg. There, we hit the Black Forest Cycle Path. A perfect choice: wide, pleasantly graveled, it winds gently along a ridge. The air is crisp, the world feels rinsed clean. Sunbeams break through lingering mist and bathe the landscape in a mysterious light. Nature stands still. Everything feels a little like a dream – mystical, quiet, almost sacred.

And us? We keep pedaling. With tired legs, full hearts and the feeling that every kilometer here gives more than it takes. In quaint Wolfach, both the world and the weather are back in order. The sun blazes as we reach the Kinzig after nearly 100 kilometers that day.

The day begins as it will end: somewhere between wonder and exhaustion. The cooing of city pigeons still echoes in our ears as the first climb of Grubhöhe looms beneath our tyres. The asphalt steams gently in the morning sun as we pedal – each turn of the cranks pulling us higher into lush green.

The climb is challenging, no doubt. But the view from the top erases every struggle: the Black Forest lies at our feet, treetops like a swaying sea, valleys in mist, light painted like a canvas. A brief moment of silence. Then we roll on, undulating with the terrain, into a landscape that feels composed for gravel bikers – forest, meadow, wide open space.

"The ascent out of Hornberg winds through shaded forest, the air damp, muscles screaming. "

In the picturesque town of Hornberg, we pause briefly. Cobblestone streets lead to the old market square, where a small café becomes our salvation. Espresso, butter pretzel, a smile from the hostess – new energy for the next beast of a climb. And it’s a brutal one: the ascent out of Hornberg winds through shaded forest, the air damp, muscles screaming. It smells of moss, resin, sweat. But once the summit is reached, the terrain rewards us: gentle descents through open pastures, meadows like paintings – and suddenly Triberg appears ahead.

Above us, thunder growls. A massive thunderstorm cell builds and we pedal faster as if the thunder were right behind us. The climb to Schonach becomes an escape – breathless but determined.

Entering the Southern Black Forest Nature Park, the mood shifts: the air feels clearer, the light warmer, the paths lonelier. We ride through a mosaic of woods and blooming alpine meadows. As the first drops fall, the sky darkens – but we press on. Past centuries-old Black Forest farms, through dark fir forests, we finally reach the Martinskapelle.

An unassuming place of great significance: this is the source of the Breg, which joins the Brigach to form the Danube. Water gushes from a spring stone – soon to travel across half a continent – and for a moment, we feel part of a greater flow. Then the sun breaks through. The landscape shines again as if nothing had happened. When we check in at the mountain inn near the Danube spring, we’ve logged over 2,000 meters of elevation that day – a day that felt like a full-blown odyssey.

Tomorrow? Might be a repeat. But today was one of a kind.

The first rays of sun cautiously fight through the leftover clouds of the night as we pull our bikes from the shed of the small mountain guesthouse. Beside us, the young Danube babbles – peaceful and modest – hard to believe it will soon grow into one of Europe's great rivers. The night was quiet, except for distant thunder that now lingers in the air: cooler, clearer air and damp asphalt. Perfect conditions for another big day in the saddle.

Unlike previous days, we begin not with a climb but with a roaring downhill. A windbreaker shields us from the cool morning air as we snake downhill at over 50 km/h. After ten fast kilometers, we reach Simonswald – still unaware that the toughest climb of the whole trip is about to begin.

The ascent to Kandel is not for the faint of heart. Over eight kilometers, we zigzag up steep slopes, gradients biting up to 15 percent. The chain grinds, thighs burn, each curve reveals the next brutal segment. The Black Forest shows its rough side – quiet, mystical, shrouded in clouds. At the top, thick fog envelops us. No view, no vistas – just the reward of effort and the pride of conquering a mountain.

"The smell of freshly baked cake hangs in the air and for a brief moment, it feels like vacation – not a challenge."

Luckily, in the valley below at St. Peter, the next reward awaits: steaming coffee in the café across from the old monastery. We mingle with other tired but happy cyclists. The smell of freshly baked cake hangs in the air and for a brief moment, it feels like vacation – not a challenge.

But the next climb is calling. Breitnau awaits – less steep, but no less demanding. Up again, giving it all once more. This time, the summit gifts us what Kandel withheld: a sweeping view reaching all the way to the majestic, green Feldberg under a clearing sky.

The following descent to Hinterzarten and along the Titisee stream is pure joy. The day nears its end, muscles ache, but the smile is real. As a perfect finish, we treat ourselves to the Badeparadies Titisee. Warm thermal water soothes our tired limbs – pure relaxation before our final two stages through the Black Forest.

Titisee lies still, wrapped in a silky shroud of night. No sound, no wind – just the gentle lapping of waves against the shore and the soft whir of our tyres as we set off. It’s early morning and while the Black Forest stretches and yawns, we’re wide awake. Today’s goal: the highest point of our journey – the Feldberg.

Eight kilometers uphill, nearly 700 meters of climbing. Our goal is clear, our legs motivated. We roll off from the lakeshore, still accompanied by the morning mist. The sun peeks through dense firs, the air fresh with pine scent. But just as we find our rhythm, a logging detour forces an extra climb – a few surprise meters our legs feel immediately. Still, the clear sky and cool air make the ascent a pleasure.

The track doesn't lead us quite to the summit at first. But when we see the turnoff, we don't hesitate. Feldberg calls – and we answer. Almost 1,500 meters high, with sweeping views over the Black Forest. But suddenly: a thunderous roar shatters the silence. Two Eurofighter jets explode out of the valley at breathtaking speed, so low we nearly feel them touch our helmets. They loop over the summit and dive back toward Titisee. We are stunned. Awestruck. Speechless. A moment between natural tranquility and high-tech spectacle.

We linger. The view stretches far, all the way to the snow-capped Swiss Alps on the horizon. For minutes we forget the pain, the burning in our thighs – up here, only the moment counts. Then comes the long descent. Kilometer after kilometer of smooth gravel into the Wiesental valley. Wind in our faces, sun at our backs – pure flow. After three hours, we reach Todtnau. There awaits not just iced coffee, but the next big challenge: the climb to Gisiboden Alm.

And it’s a beast. Ramps of up to 20 percent force us out of the saddle. The gravel is loose, a rear tyre slips – but soon, asphalt brings relief. Our tyres grip again, we push on, meter by meter. At the Bernauer Kreuz (1,154 m), we think we’ve conquered the worst. But as always – life and the Black Forest, have other plans. Two steep, short climbs test us again and a technical singletrack descent demands full concentration. The last kilometers drain us, but the goal nears.

Foxglove blossoms line the trail in vivid purple – like they bloomed just for us. And then finally: Todtmoos. Exhausted, dirty, satisfied. The queen stage is complete. Pure Black Forest – wild, tough, stunning.

"One week, 430 kilometers, nearly 10,000 meters of climbing – and today, the home stretch."

The scent of fresh coffee, warm rolls and scrambled eggs fills the air. In the cozy breakfast room of the Hotel am Alten Kurgarten, cups clink, voices murmur – but in our minds, only one thing matters: the final stage. One week, 430 kilometers, nearly 10,000 meters of climbing – and today, the home stretch. Outside awaits the Hotzenwald – wild and untouched, with mysterious moors and dark forests. One last time, we saddle up our gravel bikes.

The village lies quietly in the morning sun as we leave. The forest road we follow winds upward like a green tunnel of trees, ferns, birdsong. The Freiwald Chapel greets us in a sunlit clearing like a silent guardian – short break, deep breath, onward.

We dive into the moorlands of the Upper Hotzenwald. Tyres hum over gravel, ponds glisten left and right, cotton grass sways in the breeze. The landscape is starkly beautiful – still, nearly untouched. A turnoff leads to the Gugelturm. We dismount, climb the final meters – and are rewarded with a panoramic view that leaves us speechless: forests, mountains, vastness.

"The lake lies like a painting, a place to pause. We leave the bikes, sit by the shore – and feel the end is near."

And then – the Vesperstüble. A hot soup, a hearty sandwich, a cool drink. Happiness can be that simple.

Back in the saddle, we descend along the Dinkelberg. The route flattens, the light softens. Somewhere below, the Rhine flows – our destination. But one last climb remains. The trail to the mountain lake above Bad Säckingen drags on. Legs burn, sweat drips, but the thought of the finish drives us on. At the top: stillness. The lake lies like a painting, a place to pause. We leave the bikes, sit by the shore – and feel the end is near.

The final descent is all ours. Wind rushes, forest blurs. And then – cobblestones. Houses. Life. We roll into the old town of Bad Säckingen. In front of us, Europe’s longest covered wooden bridge spans the Rhine. We stop, dismount – done.

A week in the Black Forest behind us. In our legs: climbs, dust, effort. In our hearts: stories, encounters, landscapes that stay with us. The warmth of the people, hearty food, panoramas that leave you speechless – all of it made this gravel crossing more than just a physical feat. It was a journey.

And now? Now it's time for a slice of Black Forest cake.

If you would like to find out more about gravel riding in the Black Foret, there's an excellent resource here

If you would like to retrace Timo's route, you can find all the details here: