Snowy caps and coal black mirages

Switzerland!
May 19th






Mind ........ definition:

That which is responsible for one's thoughts and feelings; the seat of the faculty of reason.

Explosion,........ defintion:

The act of exploding or bursting something or ......a sudden great increase.


This entry was very close to being a pictorial account as I could see no way of writing what it is to have cycled the days I have cycled in Switzerland.

It all began with the donging of bells from somewhere out of sight. Then it all became clear, like cycling through an episode of Heidi, It was tyhe sound of cattle. The ladies wearing nicely pitched pings whilst the male moos had wallop-ing affairs. At first I felt it only right to cut them loose of this torturous existence, for every grass chew produced a dong. Cycling past suddenly produced a cacophony of a thousand church steeples as inquisitive heads were jolted in my direction. (I have stopped mooing at them now, I think it was just a phase)

What with all this cow dongling the Swiss border must be close. Within 15 minutes it appeared through the drizzle.

That morning I woke to head for my first international border ‘sur ma velo’ I pee’d 5 times before setting off, then 2 twice on route. I was nervous ! Every bend on the steep sided country lane had me peer ahead for signs of custom officials and stripy barriers. Was this the correct road? Then through a veil of mist it appeared (it was raining). The office of officialdom was closed, a normal occurrence for me now. A raised barrier next to a drooping sodden Swiss flag surely meant I was free to enter. My first passport christening shall have to wait. It was just me and my tripod, which kindly took my picture as evidence of this monumental occasion. I cycled between the 2 countries 3 times to savour the moment. The significance and pride of such occasions may dilute a little as I head East but that 10 minute ceremony was all mine, on my own and I’ll never forget it.

For over a year in planning and penny saving, the mountains have always been there as a driving force and motivation for me to follow the front wheel of a bicycle around the world. I was now within a few days cycle from the highest peaks .......maybe 5 pees within 1 hour is not that many after all?

An interlude In Bern before the ride into the mountains

There was a lesson well learnt on expectations in France regarding champagne mush and misery. Alas the alps were too engrained in my excited mind to dampen or control. The hope of wonderment was there and from now on I would continually search the horizon for a peek at a peak!

A few days later and There they were, capped in a muddy sunset brown stretching accross the horizon. It was all I could do to stop, I was emotionally stammered. It had been 2 weeks since Shepherds Bush roundabout and here I was transfixed by a dream, and it was truly vast
For the first time in living memory a tear ran from my eye. I lay the bike down and just sat and stared. Then the laughter started, it was great and it kept re-apearing (and still does).

I would raise my cap and look at what I was approaching........

and I would laugh some more.

From that point on I knew this is what I should be doing. The alps had given me everything I needed and put to rest any doubts that I really was mad to be cycling round the world.

I am a very lucky and content young man.

I realised that evening I had been institutionally writing “day off” when not cycling, when in fact for the most part I was twiddling my thumbs and itched to do some more exploring. No longer would I be writing "day off" in my log book. That first view of the Alps had me yearning for more!

I had set a glorious goal of going skiing whilst I passed through this marvelous land and Suddenly an opportunity arose. I could catch a train followed by a cable car to the highest point in Europe, 180 Swiss Francs was all it took. I cycled the same round about repeatedly turned round then forgot which side of the road I was supposed to be on, woops! headed for the Bahnhoff then stopped, delved a little deeper and......... this went on for over an hour, studying maps, routes, reasons and motives.

I cycled away from the Barnhoff to another summit, My legs were a little displeased with the decision but suffice to say I was happy with the direction (literally) I had taken. If carrots taste delicious after carrying them 60 miles, I am sure catching a train to the top of a mountain would turn them soggy!

To side track a little and with no offer of an apology at repeating my self or my rotten language should it emerge, but it has not stopped bloody raining since I entered Switzerland. I am constantly teased by hourly stints of gorgeous, sorry mind blowingly gorgeous scenery and technicolour wonderlands (that I still can’t belive I am cycling through) for it all to fold in around me again. Since the first Epiphany that brought a tear to my eye, for the most part I have been staring into coal black mirages wondering if they are mounatins I have seen or more rumbling storm clouds. It has been like cycling along in a shoe box where “someone” graces me with a half hour of reckoning where I can actually see where I am. The effect is quite overpowering, when a sheer vertical drop or monstrous peek is suddenly de-misted in front of my little wheels.

I have looked back through my notes and noticed there has been only 4 days in 3 weeks where there has been no wetness to contend with.

I realised I was talking to the sky when a week ago I imagined myself making friends with that “somone” in the hope ofbrokering some deal of none wetness, it failed and now I am stretched to the “f” word as I contend with 5 hours of cycling through down pours and 500 metre ascents against tidal currents (commonly known as roads).
On the ride to Interlaken I was spell bound for a whole morning of (see dictionary definition) mind exploding scenic wonderment. I can comfortably say it was approaching the unbelievable in its grandeure composition. Then it started raining. WHY? It reached the sublime when the puddles were so deep cars would traverse to the other side of the road. Candle lit lake side hotels entised with there warm glow, and with incredible timing and pinch of surreal madness a scuba diver walked past as I fed on a banana whilst sheltering in a road tunnel. A Bloody scuba diver! I was drenched (again). Lightning struck and the mountains retreated out of site. The whole day ended with a kind offer of a stay in a t-pee tent at the end of the lake. WOW!...............it leaked ! I was forced to put a tent up inside a tent and lie there wondering if a day like that should be allowed to happen.

Tents inside tents.....££$%£$%&%

Phew I feel much better now. My stays in t-pees (is that what they are called?) became more frequent. They were always to found by beautifull lake side vistas and their owners appeared to take a liking to cyclists.

Tranquil morning coffee views, t-pee stlye!

To a solo cyclist it had been of great comfort to be welcomed, waved at and bonjoured too by the French cyclists. I was now amongst sour faced peddlers that would subtly nod, to the point of negligiblity. I have given up any cheery exchanges now and found other amusement which after cycling through the Quite flat capped rural France has emerged as female lycra clad cyclists (on mass), Fantastic! I had everything going for me......a week old t-shirt (which has been banned from the inner tent,along with the socks), oil stained right leg, a max speed on flat ground of 12 mph, and a wobbly cycling style to die for.

I have studied the map spoken to tourist information and think I may have fathomed a route through this veritcal world. As of yet I have done very well. Navigation has been completely different to that of France where Chis (a friend suggested the name, wierdo !) would point me South East and there would be a road. Here it is all about numbers, and 4 figure ones at that. There are so few routes to negotiate that altitudes must be closely observed. The numbers represent torturous climbs or freewheeling joy past lakeside beaches and sweat free cruising. One must be carefull as these numbers hide themselves amongst such trivial map details as place names or church symbols. 2 days ago a 1 hour cycle turned into a 3 hour clamber all because the graphic designer chose BOLD type for Lungern. Luckily I have noticed a civil law of gradients throught out this amazing place, which sits just inside my right knees capabilites (the suffering bits are taking it turns.)

After making the decision to Cycle to the top and seeing the unbelievable beauty of the mountains and lakes from down below I am now itching to see the world from up on high.

The infamous, alpine Passes loom.

Glen.

P.s. The Last ski day is May 28th. I had best get peddling.

Yipeeeeeee!

P.P.S. This blogger program is rubbish, I seem no longer to be able to add pictures.

These may work if clicked on?