Lübeck Bay curves round in a long, shallow arc, and Timmendorfer Strand sits halfway along it, which is why the whole stretch from Travemünde to Neustadt in Holstein feels like one continuous holiday. The beach is wide and pale, the water is shallow enough that children paddle out a long way, and in July the sand is dotted with Strandkörbe, those hooded wicker beach chairs that Germans treat as portable living rooms. Behind the dunes, the promenade is lined with big hotels, ice cream stalls and a pier, and in the evening it fills with people in sandals pretending not to look at their phones.
The town has been a seaside resort since the late nineteenth century, when the railway and the Baltic bathing fashion arrived together. It grew past the shingled fishing cottages that were here before, and the sense of two layers lives on in Niendorf, the harbour district at the eastern end, where a few fishing cutters still go out and sell smoked herring and fresh flounder from the quay. It is worth a stop just to see that the Baltic fishing trade has not entirely gone.
For riders, the coast is not about corners. The road from Travemünde, past Haffkrug and Scharbeutz, runs close behind the dunes through resort towns, and the speed limits are low and enforced. The pleasure is in the long views of the sea and in the strip of green between towns, and in the fact that the Baltic is a calm companion rather than a wild one. If you want bends, turn inland and cross the low hills of Holstein, where beech woods and small lakes give the road a lively roll, and where the traffic thins out almost at once. A few kilometres south is Lübeck, the old Hanseatic city, with its brick Gothic towers and marzipan shops, and it is an easy side trip.
With over nine thousand year-round residents, Timmendorfer Strand has proper fuel stops and supermarkets, though in high summer everything gets crowded. Parking by the beach costs money and fills early. A fish sandwich with pickled herring and onions is the local fuel, and a bag of Lübeck marzipan lasts exactly as long as the next red light.
On a fine day in May, before the main crowds arrive, the sea is a pale grey-green and the whole coast is yours.