Biel/Bienne

Electric bikes are a common sight over here, and today I confirmed a hunch of mine when I passed two of them. (On a downhill stretch.) They're speed-limited (and I'm not).

No ride through the countryside is without its surprises. Four or five storks were foraging in a field behind a farmer who was mowing. We watched one swoop in to land—what a wing span!

Near one farm, we came upon a large dog lying in the middle of the road. His territory. We stopped; he stared. The standoff was broken when he got up and sauntered over to be petted. [Whew.]

We crossed the Aare River and stopped for a snack in Solothurn, leading to the first crisis of the day.

As we prepared to leave, one of our riders could not find his backpack; we all had that sinking feeling despite being puzzled about how it could have disappeared. After much searching and confusion, it was found—on his wife's back. (Along with her own pack.)

Our route took us past not only BMC, but also Canyon. I knew BMC was Swiss, but thought Canyon was German.

We also found the Velodrome Suisse and charmed them into letting us inside to take a peek at the track.

Our destination, for lunch, was Biel/Bienne, a French-speaking pocket of Switzerland. And there I learned a valuable lesson at the Brasserie City-Bar.

Although there is free drinking water in fountains everywhere, in restaurants you're typically obliged to purchase mineral water by the bottle. We ordered “still,” not con gas, and the first bottle arrived chilled. After draining that, we ordered a second. Unlike our waiter, who delivered the first bottle sealed, the woman who brought the second bottle to our table twisted the cap before setting it down. [Because, as we would otherwise have discovered, it wasn't sealed in the first place.] Not chilled, and lacking that distinctive mineral tang, this café is evidently in the habit of cheating unsuspecting tourists by saving and refilling empty bottles with tap water. A reason, perhaps, to opt for the fizzy variety in the future.

The front of the train station looked like the site of a homeless encampment or a major protest, covered as it was with scrap wood, posters, and crudely scrawled messages in French and German. It was, evidently, the artist Thomas Hirschhorn's homage to local writer Robert Walser. I'm afraid the genius of his artwork was lost on me.

Our return to Burgdorf required changing trains in Zollikofen, which led to the second fumble of the day. Our host did not explain how little time we had to change trains; while most of us carried our bikes up (and back down) the stairs to the adjacent platform, another rider lost time waiting for an elevator that was evidently not operating. On the bright side, the missed connection afforded the opportunity to visit the market across the street for some ice cream before the next train would arrive.

Knowing I couldn't keep up with the stronger riders today, I enjoyed this outing with the mellow group: a mere 34 miles and 518 feet of climbing.