Versam

If I can see my reflection on the road, I'd rather stay home. But today we needed to move on to the next town, some 50 miles away.

I looked at the weather radar map.

Rain, lots of it. Rain, along the entire route. Rain, all day.

Two riders wimped out. I was one of them. Bikes were loaded into the trailer, riders were loaded into the car. We shadowed the rest of the group as as they progressed along the route. They were cold. They were wet. But they were determined.

Everyone made it safely to our destination; again, a few opted for a boost by train.

We stopped for a good view of a pair of bridges (one old, one new) spanning a deep and narrow gorge.

Farther along, we paused to admire the Ruinaulta, impressive even on a rainy day.

Our destination was the town of Versam, which seemed (to me) like the very town you might picture when you picture Switzerland.

The local church, along with its beautifully carved and painted organ, dates back to the 18th century.

Our hotel was perched on a cliff at the edge of town. Irregular additions to the building over the years made room numbers impractical. The innkeeper led the way, showing me where to turn at each staircase and level. On my door, and on the key ring, were wooden panels with handpainted images of a horse. Across the hall was the “stork” room (and so forth).

Dinner featured a traditional local dish, a kind of dumpling called capuns.

I'm not convinced there's a better way to visit a country than on the seat of a bicycle. Though, perhaps not on a rainy day.