12-16 September 2019.
Nyon, Switzerland to Balvers, Lichtenstein in the Company of the Bernese Oberland
306 miles with 19,704 feet of climbing, another climb to Mount Everest base camp from sea level.
Nyon, Switzerland to Balvers, Lichtenstein in the Company of the Bernese Oberland
306 miles with 19,704 feet of climbing, another climb to Mount Everest base camp from sea level.
Top: My route through Switzerland, 306 miles with 19,704 feet of climbing, plus a bit of of my route through France (left) and Lichtenstein and Austria (right). Bottom: 12 Sept 2019. An image that captures, amidst far from ideal light, my spectacular introduction to Lake Geneva and the highest summit in the Alps, Mont Blanc. My vantage for this photo is a picnic table, conveniently located, part-way down a steep descent from Saint-Cergue, Route de Nyon.
Amidst two socializing border guards on the French side of Cure, a town split by the border with Switzerland, roughly half the town on each side, I waved to confirm that I could pass and the two encouraged me to continue, out of France and into Switzerland. On the Swiss side, I pedaled past a modern, mostly glass, building meant to house border guards but there was neither voice nor flesh to welcome or preclude my progress and so I rode-on into the next country on the tour. From Cure, I continued to ascend but not much longer, most of the third ascent of significance through the Jura Mountains, the first up to Bornay, France, was behind me
At the village of Saint-Cergue, many miles into Switzerland, the descent down to the shores of Lake Geneva began and prioritized gravity with no concern for thin brake pads. Respecting my brakes, I took great pleasure descending, plummeting, only stopping to capture the remarkable scene above, which resolved with great force in my mind’s eye. Before this moment, just beyond Saint-Cergue, I had never witnessed either Lake Geneva, or Mont Blanc, the highest summit in the Alps. I was overwhelmed by the scene, so much so that I could have grinned through just about anything at that moment as long as I was witnessing what was before me. But on this day that grin came easy, the weather was just right for cycling, very little wind, no rain or other physical discomforts near or far and far encompassed many miles from my perspective at that moment.
I made my way down, down, down to the shoreline and the bike-way along the shore of Lake Geneva in the busy town of Nyon where I was greeted by tourists form many nations, most of them laughing and eating ice cream which I narrowly avoided in the presence of their contagious inspiration. By chance, I arrived at the terminal that services the Nyon ferry stop for catching rides here and there, elsewhere, on the lake, such as Geneva to the west and Laussane to the east. Although my plans would change over the next 24 hours, when I arrived to Nyon I was thinking that I would take the ferry the next day, or day after perhaps, as far east as possible and then bicycle into the Swiss Alps from there. In the meantime, I made my way to an affordable Airbnb option a few villages in the direction of Geneva, to Crans-près-Céligny, and bought groceries for the evening and breakfast in the same town just before the shop closed.
Foremost after settling into Cecile's chambre confortable dans charmante maison was to make a decision about how to proceed the following days. Lake Geneva was officially a reality and so, in part, I needed to set my next goal, something I've found useful in touring and life in general, especially for accomplishing tasks that can overwhelm the mind when not partitioned into more manageable parts. I've done this with training and racing for the last seven years and now I'm doing the same in the context of touring, chunking my way through lengthy, difficult routes involving many countries and varying terrains. I had, by chance, arrived at the point when the lake's ferry transportation system was transitioning from the summer to winter schedule and with that also went, out the window, many options. Not only departure times but also towns and villages that were otherwise much easier to get to by boat during the busy tourist season.
This complication led me to reconsider my original plan, which was to cross the lake from Nyon to Saint Gingolph or Villeneuve even if many stops were required, and hours, to get there. Instead, by the time I made my way into a bed fit for an adolescent, with toys stacked on shelves all around my attic bedroom and accompanying low, angled ceiling, I had rehashed and revised a few times concluding with, for the next day, a lazy cycle tour from Nyon to Vevey, a large town itself but much smaller than the second largest town on the lake (to Geneva) which I planned to sample along the way, Laussane. I was so confident in my conclusion that I booked a room, before going to bed, in La Tour-de-Peilz, a village adjacent to Vevey, before the offer was absorbed by another cost-sensitive traveler, about 45$. Not cheap, but far cheaper than most other options and the cheapest I could find in the area.
My lazy itinerary to cycle about 60 miles on a beautiful day gave me no anxiety whatsoever. With aucun souci en vou, no concern in sight, I sauntered north before redirecting east by now through the farmland above Lake Geneva in this part of the valley. Eventually, I coasted back down to the lake, then up again, and repeated, never in any hurry to arrive to a new somewhere. At Saint-Prex, I formulated then shot an award winning video by a fountain, followed this with far too many still images, then rode on towards Laussane. Part way up a little known hill on a tertiary road by a bus stop visited by only locals, I stood on my pedals to give my hamstrings a break from sharing the load. On one of the rotations that followed my chain hopped off the lower pulley wheel on the derailleur and jammed.
When seated, a sensitive bicycle rider will feel the tension and immediately stop pedaling, something I was used to doing after years of wearing-out and damaging equipment whilst racing, touring, and riding for pure recreation. That experience withstanding, on this particular occasion, wind in my ears and my ass perhaps, I failed to instinctively stop pedaling when the chain jammed. A critical second later the force of my down stroke drove the derailleur into my rear wheel. The impact with the spokes and wheel broke the derailleur off the bike, leaving the hanger intact, a very fortunate outcome given that I was not carrying a spare, foolishly. Spokes and wheel also survived; another positive note to an otherwise very serious moment on the tour.
What followed was a series of kind gestures from total strangers that are worth repeating many times, something I plan to do for anyone that might be curious and can manage to stay focused even through the shortest summary, which goes something like this,
At the village of Saint-Cergue, many miles into Switzerland, the descent down to the shores of Lake Geneva began and prioritized gravity with no concern for thin brake pads. Respecting my brakes, I took great pleasure descending, plummeting, only stopping to capture the remarkable scene above, which resolved with great force in my mind’s eye. Before this moment, just beyond Saint-Cergue, I had never witnessed either Lake Geneva, or Mont Blanc, the highest summit in the Alps. I was overwhelmed by the scene, so much so that I could have grinned through just about anything at that moment as long as I was witnessing what was before me. But on this day that grin came easy, the weather was just right for cycling, very little wind, no rain or other physical discomforts near or far and far encompassed many miles from my perspective at that moment.
I made my way down, down, down to the shoreline and the bike-way along the shore of Lake Geneva in the busy town of Nyon where I was greeted by tourists form many nations, most of them laughing and eating ice cream which I narrowly avoided in the presence of their contagious inspiration. By chance, I arrived at the terminal that services the Nyon ferry stop for catching rides here and there, elsewhere, on the lake, such as Geneva to the west and Laussane to the east. Although my plans would change over the next 24 hours, when I arrived to Nyon I was thinking that I would take the ferry the next day, or day after perhaps, as far east as possible and then bicycle into the Swiss Alps from there. In the meantime, I made my way to an affordable Airbnb option a few villages in the direction of Geneva, to Crans-près-Céligny, and bought groceries for the evening and breakfast in the same town just before the shop closed.
Foremost after settling into Cecile's chambre confortable dans charmante maison was to make a decision about how to proceed the following days. Lake Geneva was officially a reality and so, in part, I needed to set my next goal, something I've found useful in touring and life in general, especially for accomplishing tasks that can overwhelm the mind when not partitioned into more manageable parts. I've done this with training and racing for the last seven years and now I'm doing the same in the context of touring, chunking my way through lengthy, difficult routes involving many countries and varying terrains. I had, by chance, arrived at the point when the lake's ferry transportation system was transitioning from the summer to winter schedule and with that also went, out the window, many options. Not only departure times but also towns and villages that were otherwise much easier to get to by boat during the busy tourist season.
This complication led me to reconsider my original plan, which was to cross the lake from Nyon to Saint Gingolph or Villeneuve even if many stops were required, and hours, to get there. Instead, by the time I made my way into a bed fit for an adolescent, with toys stacked on shelves all around my attic bedroom and accompanying low, angled ceiling, I had rehashed and revised a few times concluding with, for the next day, a lazy cycle tour from Nyon to Vevey, a large town itself but much smaller than the second largest town on the lake (to Geneva) which I planned to sample along the way, Laussane. I was so confident in my conclusion that I booked a room, before going to bed, in La Tour-de-Peilz, a village adjacent to Vevey, before the offer was absorbed by another cost-sensitive traveler, about 45$. Not cheap, but far cheaper than most other options and the cheapest I could find in the area.
My lazy itinerary to cycle about 60 miles on a beautiful day gave me no anxiety whatsoever. With aucun souci en vou, no concern in sight, I sauntered north before redirecting east by now through the farmland above Lake Geneva in this part of the valley. Eventually, I coasted back down to the lake, then up again, and repeated, never in any hurry to arrive to a new somewhere. At Saint-Prex, I formulated then shot an award winning video by a fountain, followed this with far too many still images, then rode on towards Laussane. Part way up a little known hill on a tertiary road by a bus stop visited by only locals, I stood on my pedals to give my hamstrings a break from sharing the load. On one of the rotations that followed my chain hopped off the lower pulley wheel on the derailleur and jammed.
When seated, a sensitive bicycle rider will feel the tension and immediately stop pedaling, something I was used to doing after years of wearing-out and damaging equipment whilst racing, touring, and riding for pure recreation. That experience withstanding, on this particular occasion, wind in my ears and my ass perhaps, I failed to instinctively stop pedaling when the chain jammed. A critical second later the force of my down stroke drove the derailleur into my rear wheel. The impact with the spokes and wheel broke the derailleur off the bike, leaving the hanger intact, a very fortunate outcome given that I was not carrying a spare, foolishly. Spokes and wheel also survived; another positive note to an otherwise very serious moment on the tour.
What followed was a series of kind gestures from total strangers that are worth repeating many times, something I plan to do for anyone that might be curious and can manage to stay focused even through the shortest summary, which goes something like this,
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I climbed off the bike, assessed the problem, gasped, and then carried the bike to a bus stop about 10 meters away; less than a minute later a bus and driver arrived, I asked him about a bike shop and despite a lack of English he understood and invited me onto the bus for no cost where he made it clear that he was taking me to the train station where I could catch a train to Laussane and many bike shops; 15-20 minutes later I deboarded the bus; a moment later I asked a stranger that was walking with his young daughter, about 5 yrs old, about nearby bike shops; he confirmed I needed to go to Laussane then walked me to the ticket machine, bought me a ticket, walked me to the correct track, gave me instruction on what to do in Laussane all a moment before the doors closed and I was on my way; a short journey to Laussane and I was back outside, standing above the tracks, where I encountered a mountain biker; his English was marginal but he also understood my problem and said "follow me" and a bit more, which I obliged and thanked him for; he walked me to the city subway system where we encountered a subway employee; the employee overheard our conversation and translated in perfect English, essentially go two stops, get off and this guy will be waiting for you, he'll ride there; then the employee brought me and my bike down an elevator to a platform, gave me more instruction and wished me well as he hurried me onto the subway; at the other end, two stops, the man on the mountain bike arrived within 2 minutes and then walked me a few hundred feet to a very good bike shop which didn't have the 11-speed derailleur I needed in stock so they removed a derailleur and other parts from a new bike; two hours later I was riding east towards my reservation, I arrived close to dark carrying an amazing story, including a conclusion that could have come much later.
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When the break occurred it was about 330 pm, I arrived to the bike shop at least an hour later. They closed by seven and Monday was a holiday! Waiting until Tuesday would have been brutal for my modus operandi. What can you say about all of this genuine kindness? I had no idea what to say then and the same is true now. Perhaps it's simple, the Swiss are good at many things and kindness to strangers is among those talents. Beyond kindness, it's tempting to insert something outside of well understood physics, something quantum perhaps, which was closer to my thinking as I rode away, towards Vevey. Of course, my old friend Bradford was beside me. We had a conversation most of the way and I enjoyed every bit of it including genuine, out loud, laughter!
Stripped down to a loaned bathrobe so that I could wash all of my clothing, bike and civilian, I lost that too as I crawled into bed after a day that was beyond special. The next morning I woke after a not-so-good sleep, the norm for this tour, partly due to the European habit of wrapping a blanket in a sheet versus keeping the two separate. Those of us that are sensitive to temperature, all of us it turns out, struggle to drift into recovery bliss under these conditions. Some sort of noise maker, other than the trains that shook the infrastructure around me several times an hour, would also have been helpful but I realize that's a lot to ask whilst traveling.
The Swiss may be friendly, exceedingly helpful, etcetera, but they are also shrewd financial specialists. The following morning, before I departed Vevey, I dropped-into the local market, it was a Sunday. A loaf of bread, palm sized allocation of vegan cheese, and cooked noodles with vegetables, which I had for breakfast, left me over twenty franks poorer. The bread and cheese cost 10 franks 70, alone. As much as I was looking forward to the likelihood of spectacular views of the Bernese Oberland, the Swiss name for the range south of Thun, Interlaken, Brienz and the two intermontane lakes between these towns, I knew my financial ruin was all but ensured if I delayed too long in Switzerland. The UK was also a big drain on resources allocated to the tour; and jumping ahead, prices for food and lodging were essentially the same in Lichtenstein as Switzerland.
Local knowledge was very good to me on this particular day, and I nearly missed it: the husband of my host casually arrived with a Michelin map as I was essentially throwing my leg over the bike. He suggested that I follow the lake shore to its confluence with the Rhone, then follow the Rhone upstream, eventually cutting across to Bex ("bey") where I could ascend into the Alps on a lightly traveled two-track, gem of a road. Despite having a line to follow already loaded on my GPS, after noodles, a bad idea for breakfast heading into an Alpine climb, and a deep cut into the day’s budget, I ignored that course and instead rode in the opposite direction, towards the Rhone. This was, in hindsight, serendipitous, a tour of the famous and scenic Rhone River and its valley would otherwise have been missed in favor of, I'm told, a trafficked route heading east-northeast away from Lake Geneva. This new route also brought me much closer to the Bernese Oberland and views of their summits that inspired and humbled me in equal, and large, doses for the next few days.
By now it was 14 September, 2019, two days before I'd arrived to Lake Geneva, one significant bike incident between. I took the scenic route to Bex, turning off of the Rhone much sooner than advised. But as I've reinforced on this tour many times, climbing often means a memorable view. I accepted my fate early, extended climbing, arriving to a state of mind and body similar to flowing water, a process that heeds no concern for obstructions, water simply moves around, under, and over along a course that offers the least resistance. Time passes quickly when the mind and body are in this unified, shared, flow state. As I ascended in elevation, I also ascended into this peaceful, meditative state until flow and setting harmonized into a beautiful symphony of silence.
Elsewhere my mind processed, without provocation, the Bernese Oberland to the east and south and the land more proximate, including fields of impossible grades descending from summits and forest tracks down to the cultivators and the cows that maintain them. Creeks filled in the middle and otherwise a small bike rider in an infinite universe glided past moving, seemingly, only the parcel of air around him, but eventually innocent somethings in Andromeda and beyond. Why I go where I do, why I go there without questioning, why I trust when people look for courage, it is to arrive at this unified, timeless space.
I climbed to Gryon then Villars, by then 10 kilometers into a punishing climb that I loved. Rassa, Mazots, Rachy, and Jorat, by now descending, all made their introduction and their au revoir. The man and bike that started at Duncansby Head were now, absolutely, in the Alps, where clouds and skiers flourish and writers, among others, come in search of their own flow states and the inspiration these provide. All around and far away bells worn by dairy cows clunked and chimed, in a limited range, and these sounds echoed in my mind and down the valleys, which were immense and so scenic that they forced my subconscious to generate a new reality, of what was possible, what was real now and for what remained of my life on Planet Earth. The reflected greens of the fields and forests and the grey stone bedrock, often marine limestone containing evidence of fossils but not always, explored the atmosphere as if there was no gravity, space-time, or similar realities to restrain them. What I captured in photos go nowhere as far as capturing the grand reputation, all deserved, of this place. Of course, what you feel is never captured on any media, other than your synapses, but for some places, like the Alps, that effect is far more significant. For those that read this far I encourage you to find your own way to the high places in the Alps, for the same reason that so many flock to either rim of the Grand Canyon. It is a place that you must behold and with it process as hopeless as it is but no less fruitful. Stand there as long as you can, ask questions, beg for mercy, and most of all smile at your good fortune. And go there by your own power, by foot, by bicycle, leave the machines that pollute behind, your experience and your civilization will be grateful.
Beyond Col du Pillon, I was headed to the first of five (or six, including the Obersee) massive, glacial melt water lakes, each of them a shade of turquoise. Foremost, the brightest, being Lake Brienz, known locally as the Brienzersee. This evening, I concluded at Thun, in the Canton of Bern, a hundred meters from the Thunersee, the first of the intermontane lakes that I explored on my journey through the Swiss Alps. Ruth was an exceptional host. She greeted me with a genuine smile in very understandable, very good, English. Immediately Ruth and I and a friend of hers were joking, easily, friends by appearance and mutual respect.
Her apartment was on the fourth floor, with palatial porches on either end separated from the internals of her abode by glass, thick for heat and cold efficiency, which celebrated natural light. My bicycle rolled comfortably off the elevator and onto the back porch, overlooking a commuter rail line. Inside Ruth had planned and decorated the space in a way that simultaneously inspired and comforted. I easily settled in for a shower, food, a beer bought with groceries and eventually a much needed rest not only for my physical-self but also the neurological processes responsible for transforming my experiences into memories. Without sleep we cannot remember, without sleep we cannot recover, sleep is the primary force that literally causes a temporary paralysis and a wondrous reality of all things when we stir and resume our woken dream.
The following day was a day of lakes, first Thunersee, then Brienzersee, then my conclusion including a pizza and a pint, just above the Vierwaldstättersee in Hergiswil, a suburb of much larger Lucerne. From here, I wasn't far from the famous town of Zurich, Switzerland. Nonetheless, far enough to otherwise quell any anxiety in a cyclist that prefers countryside bike ways, tractor tracks, and single-track roads
As much as I enjoyed riding along all three of the lakes, including a marvelous bike way that led me around a massive traffic jam on my approach to Hergiswil, my encounter with the Brienzersee was the most impressive. This lake is literally the bright, majestic and popular, color known (by most retinas anyway) as turquoise. Color literally explodes from this lake, and the rivers that flow into it, a natural palette that would impress each and every artist, within us. Bike ways offer many privileges but in this case, the bike way that I followed more or less along the shoreline of the Brienzersee, kept me from any serious mishap brought about by riding spellbound whilst looking over my left shoulder versus towards the way ahead.
The backdrop of the Brienzersee is a high, sometimes sharp, other times undulating, ridge of limestone. An extraordinary outcrop of terra firma that was once at the bottom of a shallow sea, before (that's right, before) the famous dinosaurs walked through warm, buggy swamps, and certainly well before mankind evolved and dreamed of a being that lived in the clouds and judged all and everything. In fact, the water is colored the way it is because of the interaction of light with calcium carbonate that naturally dissolves in water, is carried downhill, and deposited in the lake as it was eons ago at the bottom of a sea associated with the supercontinent Pangaea. What more as far as inspiration can you hope for on a bike tour? Or in life! The Brienzersee inspires with long-lasting effect, to the end of my tour, beyond, and perhaps a little farther.
Herigswil was a comfortable place to rest, between mosquito bites and nocturnal searches for the responsible beasts that made their way through my open (unscreened in Europe is the standard) window; and save money, an alternative to nearby Lucerne, but there was no reason to be idle the following morning. Instead, following an introduction to my host, Beat, a hockey player among other talents and a gentleman host, I was on my way towards the next lake on my tour, the Zurichsee.
For this part of the journey I approached and rode through Zug, an industrial space that, despite its purpose, I was pleased to depart, back into the surrounding, nurturing landscape. From Zug, I mostly descended, after a modest climb, to Lake Zurich which was not quite as green as the Brienzersee but nonetheless approached that turquoise extravaganza with its own not-so-subtle beauty. Like the lakes before, this one was easily explored by a bike way, well kept, that followed the south shore, including extensive tunnels where no cars, no gas burning of any kind, is allowed. To travel by bike along these shores is to experience pure bliss as a bicycle rider. There is nothing but the anticipation, always fulfilled, of another panorama that might cause you to express a lunatic giddiness. I don't envy the former generation of photographers, before the digital age, that visited these places. Their enthusiasm must have been restrained by a constant fear that they would run out of film. In my case, Google is doing a job, far, far away, that may or may not be good for the Planet. In the meantime, their service, two terabytes on Google Drive for 10$ a month, means that no iota of concern arose as I imaged one scene after another with my Android smart phone.
Beyond the lake-side towns and villages of Wädenswil, Pfäffikon, Lachen, and Schmerikon I approached the next visual prize of my journey, the valley of the River Linth. And given this was my first visit to the area, actually most of the way I'd come was new terrain except for a section of Scotland, I had no idea what awaited me. Technically, at Pfäffikon, because of a narrow causeway that separates the Zurichsee from what appears, from casual inspection of a map, to be the eastern third of the same lake, I transitioned to the shoreline of the Obersee.
Between the Obersee and the next lake, the Walensee, I followed the River Linth. More rather than less a straight and narrow canal at this point in its history but nonetheless the center of a very scenic agricultural scene amidst villages and surrounding, massive, mountains including parts of the Bernese Oberland, a range in the Swiss Alps that includes three celebrated mountains, the Eiger, Mönch and Jungfrau, and the largest glacier of the Alps, the Aletsch Glacier. Certainly, a person with a desire to explore could easily get lost in this part of the World, to their demise but more likely to their euphoria.
Beyond the Walensee, my combined bike path and road route delivered me to the banks of the River Sees and it's valley, all around, which in my view, and perhaps I'm going beyond what is sensible here by splitting, categorizing, two spaces that are scenically magnificent, this valley was the more beautiful of the two. Then again, perhaps the warm light of evening deceived my senses when I arrived to the second. Speculation and descriptive analyses aside, I was charmed by this valley and I slowed down, even more, to absorb and make preparations to remember. Along the way, I disconnected from all of my human experiences, the flow state that I described returned here, in enviable light and comfort, and the dose was intoxicating. I photographed my bicycle by an old barn, just behind a waterfall matching in scope and size famous falls in Yosemite Valley, descended, in the background, by inescapable gravity several hundred feet to a hidden bottom. I saw several of these anonymous waterfalls and had other experience, too, that reminded me of Yosemite Valley, along my tour of the lakes from Bex to the River Sees. It made me respect and want to nurture, to love, the Yosemite, so trampled as it is and getting worse every year, by, for the most part, well intentioned humanity.
As I approached the Rhine and the border that it established, in this area, between Switzerland and Lichtenstein I felt embraced, in a loving way, by all things, my past and my present. Here is a conclusion that I never achieved in my professional life, as a postdoctoral fellow at any university where I'm sure I was moving towards a sad and tragic end given our short time among the living, with so much waiting to nurture us, to speak to us, to compel and inspire. I rode my "push bike" as the Europeans often refer to a bicycle up onto a massive, depth and thickness, levy that holds the Rhine back from, I suspect, otherwise overflowing much of the valley all the way back to the Walensee. Below, the river greeted me as an old friend, from my previous tours, two in total, in mostly northern Europe.
A bridge only for bikes and pedestrians was next, half-way across I stopped, intentionally, to allow one wheel to rest in Switzerland and the other in Lichtenstein all whilst the mighty Rhine flowed, in the turquoise, signature color of water in the Swiss Alps, below my feet, without hesitation around stones, sand banks, and other preclusions. I climbed onto a rail for a photo, perspective is worth most risks. And shortly before I dropped back down a woman passing by smiled her approval of my short excursion into a higher space, or perhaps she knew that I was already far away from the here and now despite my awareness, through trained senses, of my position on a foot bridge at this historically insignificant moment, over the Rhine. In this enviable state-of-mind I rode into a new country, my first journey into a kingdom that has survived tremendous turmoil along its borders.
Lichtenstein would be, for my short tour relative to the grand, timeless, clock of the cosmos, quite short. However, I could, and did it turned out, extend my stay in this country by taking a rest day! Shortly after arriving to the home of Claudia and her some Dario, a triple A under 18 hockey player in the US for two years, I easily decided to extend from one night to two. Right away I felt a kinship to my housemates and even the village where the water running through small canals, under and along village roads, was immaculate. It reminded me of what Tolkien's waterways must have looked like, in his mind, when he visualized Elf villages. And it also reminded me of the tragic decisions American's and their leadership are making when it comes to Earth's air, water, soil, and indirectly, biodiversity. These four somethings are what make life here on Planet Earth possible, for all of us. The water in this village reflected the priority of a people that I shared and I wished I could carry, encourage and be a part of making a new normal back in the United States where too often "that's okay" is the conclusion and nurturing our environment is the sacrifice. In my view it's not okay and we should do better knowing what we know now, much better.
Two days and home cooked meals in between, by Claudia, came and went far too quickly and soon I was preparing to leave but not before an deep, warm, enviable hug and a photo with my host. A short ride to the village bakery and then I retraced my route back to the foot bridge without stopping, or crossing over. Instead I turned north on the Lichtenstein side of the Rhine and rode to the conclusion, about 15 miles, a full south to north transect, of Lichtenstein. I was in no hurry to depart; many photos and a video slowed me down even more. But eventually, unexpectedly it turned out, I rode into Austria, another first for my life. And from there into the Austrian Alps and many other experiences, smaller in scope but not importance, below and between.
I'll pick that story up in my next entry, recollections and thoughts from my journey east from Feldkirch to Innsbruck, all in Austria; then south to Brenner Pass and the border with Italy. On the other side of that pass, I was surprised to encounter a German speaking population all the way to Trento. Later I learned that this part of Italy was Austrian, a German speaking nation, until just after the first World War. Despite so many decades the region, known as South Tyrol, has somehow held onto its German roots including culture and language! Fabulous.
Stripped down to a loaned bathrobe so that I could wash all of my clothing, bike and civilian, I lost that too as I crawled into bed after a day that was beyond special. The next morning I woke after a not-so-good sleep, the norm for this tour, partly due to the European habit of wrapping a blanket in a sheet versus keeping the two separate. Those of us that are sensitive to temperature, all of us it turns out, struggle to drift into recovery bliss under these conditions. Some sort of noise maker, other than the trains that shook the infrastructure around me several times an hour, would also have been helpful but I realize that's a lot to ask whilst traveling.
The Swiss may be friendly, exceedingly helpful, etcetera, but they are also shrewd financial specialists. The following morning, before I departed Vevey, I dropped-into the local market, it was a Sunday. A loaf of bread, palm sized allocation of vegan cheese, and cooked noodles with vegetables, which I had for breakfast, left me over twenty franks poorer. The bread and cheese cost 10 franks 70, alone. As much as I was looking forward to the likelihood of spectacular views of the Bernese Oberland, the Swiss name for the range south of Thun, Interlaken, Brienz and the two intermontane lakes between these towns, I knew my financial ruin was all but ensured if I delayed too long in Switzerland. The UK was also a big drain on resources allocated to the tour; and jumping ahead, prices for food and lodging were essentially the same in Lichtenstein as Switzerland.
Local knowledge was very good to me on this particular day, and I nearly missed it: the husband of my host casually arrived with a Michelin map as I was essentially throwing my leg over the bike. He suggested that I follow the lake shore to its confluence with the Rhone, then follow the Rhone upstream, eventually cutting across to Bex ("bey") where I could ascend into the Alps on a lightly traveled two-track, gem of a road. Despite having a line to follow already loaded on my GPS, after noodles, a bad idea for breakfast heading into an Alpine climb, and a deep cut into the day’s budget, I ignored that course and instead rode in the opposite direction, towards the Rhone. This was, in hindsight, serendipitous, a tour of the famous and scenic Rhone River and its valley would otherwise have been missed in favor of, I'm told, a trafficked route heading east-northeast away from Lake Geneva. This new route also brought me much closer to the Bernese Oberland and views of their summits that inspired and humbled me in equal, and large, doses for the next few days.
By now it was 14 September, 2019, two days before I'd arrived to Lake Geneva, one significant bike incident between. I took the scenic route to Bex, turning off of the Rhone much sooner than advised. But as I've reinforced on this tour many times, climbing often means a memorable view. I accepted my fate early, extended climbing, arriving to a state of mind and body similar to flowing water, a process that heeds no concern for obstructions, water simply moves around, under, and over along a course that offers the least resistance. Time passes quickly when the mind and body are in this unified, shared, flow state. As I ascended in elevation, I also ascended into this peaceful, meditative state until flow and setting harmonized into a beautiful symphony of silence.
Elsewhere my mind processed, without provocation, the Bernese Oberland to the east and south and the land more proximate, including fields of impossible grades descending from summits and forest tracks down to the cultivators and the cows that maintain them. Creeks filled in the middle and otherwise a small bike rider in an infinite universe glided past moving, seemingly, only the parcel of air around him, but eventually innocent somethings in Andromeda and beyond. Why I go where I do, why I go there without questioning, why I trust when people look for courage, it is to arrive at this unified, timeless space.
I climbed to Gryon then Villars, by then 10 kilometers into a punishing climb that I loved. Rassa, Mazots, Rachy, and Jorat, by now descending, all made their introduction and their au revoir. The man and bike that started at Duncansby Head were now, absolutely, in the Alps, where clouds and skiers flourish and writers, among others, come in search of their own flow states and the inspiration these provide. All around and far away bells worn by dairy cows clunked and chimed, in a limited range, and these sounds echoed in my mind and down the valleys, which were immense and so scenic that they forced my subconscious to generate a new reality, of what was possible, what was real now and for what remained of my life on Planet Earth. The reflected greens of the fields and forests and the grey stone bedrock, often marine limestone containing evidence of fossils but not always, explored the atmosphere as if there was no gravity, space-time, or similar realities to restrain them. What I captured in photos go nowhere as far as capturing the grand reputation, all deserved, of this place. Of course, what you feel is never captured on any media, other than your synapses, but for some places, like the Alps, that effect is far more significant. For those that read this far I encourage you to find your own way to the high places in the Alps, for the same reason that so many flock to either rim of the Grand Canyon. It is a place that you must behold and with it process as hopeless as it is but no less fruitful. Stand there as long as you can, ask questions, beg for mercy, and most of all smile at your good fortune. And go there by your own power, by foot, by bicycle, leave the machines that pollute behind, your experience and your civilization will be grateful.
Beyond Col du Pillon, I was headed to the first of five (or six, including the Obersee) massive, glacial melt water lakes, each of them a shade of turquoise. Foremost, the brightest, being Lake Brienz, known locally as the Brienzersee. This evening, I concluded at Thun, in the Canton of Bern, a hundred meters from the Thunersee, the first of the intermontane lakes that I explored on my journey through the Swiss Alps. Ruth was an exceptional host. She greeted me with a genuine smile in very understandable, very good, English. Immediately Ruth and I and a friend of hers were joking, easily, friends by appearance and mutual respect.
Her apartment was on the fourth floor, with palatial porches on either end separated from the internals of her abode by glass, thick for heat and cold efficiency, which celebrated natural light. My bicycle rolled comfortably off the elevator and onto the back porch, overlooking a commuter rail line. Inside Ruth had planned and decorated the space in a way that simultaneously inspired and comforted. I easily settled in for a shower, food, a beer bought with groceries and eventually a much needed rest not only for my physical-self but also the neurological processes responsible for transforming my experiences into memories. Without sleep we cannot remember, without sleep we cannot recover, sleep is the primary force that literally causes a temporary paralysis and a wondrous reality of all things when we stir and resume our woken dream.
The following day was a day of lakes, first Thunersee, then Brienzersee, then my conclusion including a pizza and a pint, just above the Vierwaldstättersee in Hergiswil, a suburb of much larger Lucerne. From here, I wasn't far from the famous town of Zurich, Switzerland. Nonetheless, far enough to otherwise quell any anxiety in a cyclist that prefers countryside bike ways, tractor tracks, and single-track roads
As much as I enjoyed riding along all three of the lakes, including a marvelous bike way that led me around a massive traffic jam on my approach to Hergiswil, my encounter with the Brienzersee was the most impressive. This lake is literally the bright, majestic and popular, color known (by most retinas anyway) as turquoise. Color literally explodes from this lake, and the rivers that flow into it, a natural palette that would impress each and every artist, within us. Bike ways offer many privileges but in this case, the bike way that I followed more or less along the shoreline of the Brienzersee, kept me from any serious mishap brought about by riding spellbound whilst looking over my left shoulder versus towards the way ahead.
The backdrop of the Brienzersee is a high, sometimes sharp, other times undulating, ridge of limestone. An extraordinary outcrop of terra firma that was once at the bottom of a shallow sea, before (that's right, before) the famous dinosaurs walked through warm, buggy swamps, and certainly well before mankind evolved and dreamed of a being that lived in the clouds and judged all and everything. In fact, the water is colored the way it is because of the interaction of light with calcium carbonate that naturally dissolves in water, is carried downhill, and deposited in the lake as it was eons ago at the bottom of a sea associated with the supercontinent Pangaea. What more as far as inspiration can you hope for on a bike tour? Or in life! The Brienzersee inspires with long-lasting effect, to the end of my tour, beyond, and perhaps a little farther.
Herigswil was a comfortable place to rest, between mosquito bites and nocturnal searches for the responsible beasts that made their way through my open (unscreened in Europe is the standard) window; and save money, an alternative to nearby Lucerne, but there was no reason to be idle the following morning. Instead, following an introduction to my host, Beat, a hockey player among other talents and a gentleman host, I was on my way towards the next lake on my tour, the Zurichsee.
For this part of the journey I approached and rode through Zug, an industrial space that, despite its purpose, I was pleased to depart, back into the surrounding, nurturing landscape. From Zug, I mostly descended, after a modest climb, to Lake Zurich which was not quite as green as the Brienzersee but nonetheless approached that turquoise extravaganza with its own not-so-subtle beauty. Like the lakes before, this one was easily explored by a bike way, well kept, that followed the south shore, including extensive tunnels where no cars, no gas burning of any kind, is allowed. To travel by bike along these shores is to experience pure bliss as a bicycle rider. There is nothing but the anticipation, always fulfilled, of another panorama that might cause you to express a lunatic giddiness. I don't envy the former generation of photographers, before the digital age, that visited these places. Their enthusiasm must have been restrained by a constant fear that they would run out of film. In my case, Google is doing a job, far, far away, that may or may not be good for the Planet. In the meantime, their service, two terabytes on Google Drive for 10$ a month, means that no iota of concern arose as I imaged one scene after another with my Android smart phone.
Beyond the lake-side towns and villages of Wädenswil, Pfäffikon, Lachen, and Schmerikon I approached the next visual prize of my journey, the valley of the River Linth. And given this was my first visit to the area, actually most of the way I'd come was new terrain except for a section of Scotland, I had no idea what awaited me. Technically, at Pfäffikon, because of a narrow causeway that separates the Zurichsee from what appears, from casual inspection of a map, to be the eastern third of the same lake, I transitioned to the shoreline of the Obersee.
Between the Obersee and the next lake, the Walensee, I followed the River Linth. More rather than less a straight and narrow canal at this point in its history but nonetheless the center of a very scenic agricultural scene amidst villages and surrounding, massive, mountains including parts of the Bernese Oberland, a range in the Swiss Alps that includes three celebrated mountains, the Eiger, Mönch and Jungfrau, and the largest glacier of the Alps, the Aletsch Glacier. Certainly, a person with a desire to explore could easily get lost in this part of the World, to their demise but more likely to their euphoria.
Beyond the Walensee, my combined bike path and road route delivered me to the banks of the River Sees and it's valley, all around, which in my view, and perhaps I'm going beyond what is sensible here by splitting, categorizing, two spaces that are scenically magnificent, this valley was the more beautiful of the two. Then again, perhaps the warm light of evening deceived my senses when I arrived to the second. Speculation and descriptive analyses aside, I was charmed by this valley and I slowed down, even more, to absorb and make preparations to remember. Along the way, I disconnected from all of my human experiences, the flow state that I described returned here, in enviable light and comfort, and the dose was intoxicating. I photographed my bicycle by an old barn, just behind a waterfall matching in scope and size famous falls in Yosemite Valley, descended, in the background, by inescapable gravity several hundred feet to a hidden bottom. I saw several of these anonymous waterfalls and had other experience, too, that reminded me of Yosemite Valley, along my tour of the lakes from Bex to the River Sees. It made me respect and want to nurture, to love, the Yosemite, so trampled as it is and getting worse every year, by, for the most part, well intentioned humanity.
As I approached the Rhine and the border that it established, in this area, between Switzerland and Lichtenstein I felt embraced, in a loving way, by all things, my past and my present. Here is a conclusion that I never achieved in my professional life, as a postdoctoral fellow at any university where I'm sure I was moving towards a sad and tragic end given our short time among the living, with so much waiting to nurture us, to speak to us, to compel and inspire. I rode my "push bike" as the Europeans often refer to a bicycle up onto a massive, depth and thickness, levy that holds the Rhine back from, I suspect, otherwise overflowing much of the valley all the way back to the Walensee. Below, the river greeted me as an old friend, from my previous tours, two in total, in mostly northern Europe.
A bridge only for bikes and pedestrians was next, half-way across I stopped, intentionally, to allow one wheel to rest in Switzerland and the other in Lichtenstein all whilst the mighty Rhine flowed, in the turquoise, signature color of water in the Swiss Alps, below my feet, without hesitation around stones, sand banks, and other preclusions. I climbed onto a rail for a photo, perspective is worth most risks. And shortly before I dropped back down a woman passing by smiled her approval of my short excursion into a higher space, or perhaps she knew that I was already far away from the here and now despite my awareness, through trained senses, of my position on a foot bridge at this historically insignificant moment, over the Rhine. In this enviable state-of-mind I rode into a new country, my first journey into a kingdom that has survived tremendous turmoil along its borders.
Lichtenstein would be, for my short tour relative to the grand, timeless, clock of the cosmos, quite short. However, I could, and did it turned out, extend my stay in this country by taking a rest day! Shortly after arriving to the home of Claudia and her some Dario, a triple A under 18 hockey player in the US for two years, I easily decided to extend from one night to two. Right away I felt a kinship to my housemates and even the village where the water running through small canals, under and along village roads, was immaculate. It reminded me of what Tolkien's waterways must have looked like, in his mind, when he visualized Elf villages. And it also reminded me of the tragic decisions American's and their leadership are making when it comes to Earth's air, water, soil, and indirectly, biodiversity. These four somethings are what make life here on Planet Earth possible, for all of us. The water in this village reflected the priority of a people that I shared and I wished I could carry, encourage and be a part of making a new normal back in the United States where too often "that's okay" is the conclusion and nurturing our environment is the sacrifice. In my view it's not okay and we should do better knowing what we know now, much better.
Two days and home cooked meals in between, by Claudia, came and went far too quickly and soon I was preparing to leave but not before an deep, warm, enviable hug and a photo with my host. A short ride to the village bakery and then I retraced my route back to the foot bridge without stopping, or crossing over. Instead I turned north on the Lichtenstein side of the Rhine and rode to the conclusion, about 15 miles, a full south to north transect, of Lichtenstein. I was in no hurry to depart; many photos and a video slowed me down even more. But eventually, unexpectedly it turned out, I rode into Austria, another first for my life. And from there into the Austrian Alps and many other experiences, smaller in scope but not importance, below and between.
I'll pick that story up in my next entry, recollections and thoughts from my journey east from Feldkirch to Innsbruck, all in Austria; then south to Brenner Pass and the border with Italy. On the other side of that pass, I was surprised to encounter a German speaking population all the way to Trento. Later I learned that this part of Italy was Austrian, a German speaking nation, until just after the first World War. Despite so many decades the region, known as South Tyrol, has somehow held onto its German roots including culture and language! Fabulous.
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