Lower Rhine forests do not announce themselves, and the Hochwald between Uedem, Xanten and Kalkar is no exception: a dark block of beech, oak and pine on a low ridge, with flat farmland on every side. Point 11 is a spot somewhere inside that woodland, about six kilometres from Uedem, so think of it as a way into the forest rather than a particular junction or bench.
The ground is quiet now, which is the odd thing about it. In February and March of 1945 this was one of the nastiest pieces of the Rhineland campaign. The Germans held the Hochwald as a fortified gap on the way to the Rhine, and Canadian and British troops fought through it in cold, mud and flooded fields. You will not find much that shouts about it from the saddle, but the straight rides and the regular lines of trees make more sense when you know the forest was shelled and then replanted. Smaller memorials and war graves are scattered around the district, and the larger cemeteries across the Reichswald near Kleve are worth a short detour if you like your history sober.
For riding, expect the Niederrhein in its plainest form. The roads are flat and mostly straight, with sudden right-angle bends where a field boundary or a drainage ditch once decided the route. Surfaces are generally fine, though forest tarmac gets strewn with needles, wet leaves and the odd sandy patch where a tractor has crossed, so brake early on the shady bends. Cyclists are everywhere here, in pairs and in families, and many rural roads have a limit of 70 or 100 that is easy to forget on a Sunday and actually enforced in places. The pleasure is rhythm rather than drama: long even stretches, birdsong when you kill the engine, and the resinous smell of warm pines.
Fuel is not a problem if you plan it. Uedem itself, a town of roughly eight and a half thousand, has what you need, and Xanten and Kalkar are bigger still. Inside the forest there is nothing, so top up before you go in. For a coffee and something sweet, the market squares of Xanten and Kalkar are both worth the extra few kilometres, and Kalkar's brick Gothic town hall is a good excuse to lean on the bike and look up.
Come on a weekday in late spring or early autumn, when the light slants low through the trunks and the car and bicycle traffic thins. In deep winter the same place is wet, grey and frankly a little grim, which is, in its way, honest.