From Špičák Across the Border: How a Stopover Turned Into a Whole Day

The journey continues: from Klínovec right across the Czech Republic to Špičák, and from there less than half an hour over the border to the Geisskopf. The Bavarian Forest was only ever planned as a short detour. What it became was a whole day, a night on the pitch and the realisation that the best stops are the ones you didn't plan.

From Klínovec I carried on via Karlovy Vary (Karlsbad) to Špičák, the next Gravity Card park, down in the Bohemian Forest and only around five kilometres from the Bavarian border. A lovely leg: no motorway rush, but country roads, forests, small villages. Exactly the kind of drive you're out in the van for.

Špičák: Small, but Good

Špičák is the biggest and at the same time the oldest bike park in the Czech Republic — which you wouldn't guess at first glance, because it comes across as compact. A small park, but I have to say: a good one.

One thing I'd flag straight away: it isn't necessarily something for the whole family. The blue line is called Good Year and while it isn't especially technical, it does have some fairly sharp switchbacks in it. I wouldn't take small children down here. Anyone equating “blue” with “harmless” will be put right.

The real reason to stop here is the longer red line, Black Friday. It kicks off straight away with a small drop — a welcome without warning. If you let it run it gets pretty quick, and there are jumps and some higher drops built in again and again that you have to work up to. The nice thing: you can ride around all of them. So you decide for yourself how much you take on, and you don't have to prove anything you haven't got in you that day.

Plus loads of grip and a few rock gardens in between. This line is absolutely worth riding several times — and that's exactly what I did. I was there for an afternoon and had a huge amount of fun. For a stopover on the way south that's a very good deal.

Why the Czech Republic Works So Well

The longer I'm out here, the more I appreciate this country as a bike destination. It's down to earth. No fuss, no inflated prices, no Instagram backdrop you pay extra for. You turn up, it works, and you don't get fleeced.

You notice it most clearly with the food. Proper home cooking for little money — and not as a fallback, but genuinely good. In Špičák I had duck with red cabbage for 14 euros in the evening.

For comparison: in Austria you pay 20 euros for a Kaiserschmarrn. In Switzerland a portion of chips costs 15 euros. You'd rather cook for yourself — and that's exactly the point. It isn't about whether you can afford it. It's simply no fun handing over the value of a whole dinner for a side dish. You feel taken for a ride, you enjoy the meal at half strength, and next time you give it a miss.

In the Czech Republic that flips round. You go out to eat in the evening because it's worth it — every evening if you want, without the travel budget starting to bleed. Plus the fuel, which is significantly cheaper than back home. Over several weeks that makes a noticeable difference, and not just financially: you spend your evenings among people instead of alone at the gas stove.

The second thing that runs a lot more relaxed here is parking up with the campervan. It isn't just easier than in Germany, Austria or Switzerland — it's also noticeably cheaper, and often enough simply free. In Špičák too there are car parks where you can just stay a night. It bothers nobody, nobody comes and wants money, nobody gives you a funny look. Anyone who has ever been hunting for a legal spot in the Alps at ten in the evening knows how much relaxation is packed into that one point.

The Detour That Didn't Stay One

From Špičák the Geisskopf is less than half an hour away. You cross the border into the Bavarian Forest, and suddenly you're standing in front of a mountain I'd mostly only known by name.

The plan was modest: grab a few runs in the morning, push on towards Austria at lunchtime. That lasted exactly until the third lift ride.

It starts down at the bottom. The park greets you with a really well-thought-out infrastructure for campers: check in by QR code, check out and pay the same way when you leave. Ten euros a night. Power hook-up, a container cabin with showers and toilets, super clean. Shaded spots and sunny spots for anyone who needs solar. That isn't a given, and you notice immediately that somebody here thought it through who travels in a van themselves.

Then the lift: a six-seater chair with those modern bike carriers on the front, three bikes per carrier. Moving briskly, short turnaround times. You're back up in no time and every time you're spoilt for choice among a stack of runs — 16 official ones, over around 20 kilometres.

And then the trails held on to me for good. North Shore timber with a history, blocky rock gardens, a brand-new flowline, plus natural enduro runs on the back side where you don't meet a living soul. The half day turned into a whole one. And instead of driving on, I found myself on the pitch that evening.

If you want to know what the individual runs are like: it's all in the Geisskopf Trail Guide.

Bike Feeling and Pitch Community

What rounded off the evening was the mood on the site. There were maybe 10 to 20 campers there, on a completely ordinary Monday. And this is no anonymous truck stop where everybody winds down their awning and wants to be left in peace — this is a bike pitch. Everyone is there for the same reason.

You're in conversation accordingly quickly. You arrive, somebody asks how the trails were today, and twenty minutes later you know where the other person is from, where they're heading next and which run you absolutely have to ride tomorrow. That bike feeling — community without effort — is, alongside the trails, the main reason I take the van over a hotel.

What the Hands Say

Three days of hammering are in the bones now: Klínovec, Špičák, Geisskopf. And the Geisskopf is a rocky, honest park — after a full day you feel it clearly in your hands, forearms and neck.

So tomorrow I'm deliberately taking it easy. I've got five weeks, and I've promised myself not to charge about and not to rush. That was the whole point: not to tick off as many parks as possible, but to stay put when it's good. The Geisskopf was the first test of that, and I passed it — by staying.

On Towards the Big Mountains

Tomorrow it's onward. Out of the low mountain ranges and into the big mountains. So far it's been the Ore Mountains, the Bohemian Forest and the Bavarian Forest — lovely, underrated territory, cheap and relaxed, ideal for warming up. But the Alps are waiting, and I'm looking forward to that.

Where exactly, I'm leaving open. The van goes where the weather and the mood point — that was the best decision in round one already.

What I take away from this leg: the best stops are the ones that weren't in the plan. The Geisskopf was meant to be a pass-through station and has become the park that has surprised me most on this tour so far. And the Czech Republic remains, for me, the most relaxed way to get ready for an Alpine season: cheap, honest, without the fuss — and with duck for 14 euros.

Written on the road, 20 July 2026. Setup for the curious: Amflow PL e-enduro, 170 mm, Öhlins RFX 38, EXT Coil, Continental Kryptotal. Van over hotel, always.