Ancient steel trusses pass by to the sides and overhead, flowing backward as I speed forwards on this narrow train bridge come bike bridge. The river landscape around me becomes faded as the sun sets and ahead of me looms the narrow, almost drop shaped opening of the tunnel. With its rough cement walls covered by a hundred years of grime from passing trains, the tunnel should be an unwelcoming place but a series of bulbous lights in the ceiling stretch out into the darkness like a band of glowing pearls, casting a light over the cyclists inside. Long, straight and narrow is the tunnel and shortly I cannot see the opening neither behind nor in front of me. I can but aim at the darkness far ahead, where the eerie glow of those luminous spheres does not reach, and go, silently relishing the empty, straight road the simplicity in this monotone environment.