Shower at the palace in Germany

One of the UK's funniest new breed of travel writers, Bernie Friend, releases his debut book, Cycling Back to Happiness, on April 28, 2008.

In it he describes his adventures along the torturous North Sea Cycle Route a coastal cycle route of 6,000 kilometres which takes in the Netherlands, Germany, Denmark, Sweden, Norway, Scotland and England.

In this fifth instalment he experiences German campsites...

Back on the northern tip of the coast facing the German Frisian islands, this was my first proper flash of the sea for days. But it was a grim, soulless place buried in the sand and barely qualified as an oasis.

There were a couple of empty bars, a gloomily lit guesthouse, plus a token souvenir shop for ferry hoppers travelling to Juist and Norderney, two of the seven inhabited East Frisian Islands.

A dusty dump, with all the sparkle and charisma of a single workaholic accountant, Norddeich had that stranded at the end of the universe feel about it.

It did have a mammoth campsite. But don't ask me why. I could have spent days scratching all the hair off my head trying to suss out a decent reason for spending more than a single night of enforced necessity here.

The campsite office was closed so I hunted out the tent pitches. A petite one man affair was erected on top of a raised mound surrounded on three sides by hedge windbreakers.

I decided to set up in the natural booth next door until a rethink was enforced by the rising male cry of: "Oh Ja. Oh Ja. Oh Jaaaaaaaa."

I really didn't want to listen to Norbet does Norddeich all night. This loud and proud chap had either banged one out and was mopping up with postage stamps, or had defied the laws of geometry by squeezing a playmate into his pegged out thimble.

There certainly wouldn't be any room for positional manoeuvre.

My remaining choice was to camp up against one hedge in the space next to the road, minus any other barriers. Big mistake.

Once I was all erected (the tent that is) I paid a visit to the camp master, who had opened up shop at 10pm.

With a tiny moustache, short blond curls and blue dungarees pulled over a radiant yellow T-shirt, he could have been Rod, Jane and Freddy's missing link.

But he didn't know the words to my tune. He struggled to grasp I had "put up a tent" or the word "camping".

Grabbing a pen and scrap of paper, I scribbled down the universal picture for tents - a crude triangle.

An artistic inability to recreate basic shapes - I can't even draw a circle properly - left two points sticking out the roof of the triangle.

The confused camp operator was beginning to think I might have brought a wig-wam.

But he didn't charge me for extra Indians. The camp site had plenty of facilities. There was a shop, restaurant and bar with live entertainment – but it wasn't officially summer yet and they were closed.

The shower block however was magnificent. This wasn't becoming an obsession and I wasn't running my fingers along walls inspecting for dust or checking the levels of the soap dispensers.

I just appreciated a decent facility for my money and this white and yellow-tiled palace left me drooling all the way to the hot tap.

The single (free) shower cubicles were pumping out hard skin massaging water and there was bum friendly soft toilet roll in every chrome throne room.

There was even a pubic hair-free bidet, which was bizarrely situated in full view of the front door.

It was nearly 11pm and everyone was in bed so I gave my sack and crack a quick splash just to make it count.

Cycling Back to Happiness (ISBN 9781906206710) is published by Pen Press. It is available to buy and order from all European book stores, or across the world from www.Amazon.co.uk.