Züri Fäscht

My taxi driver explained the circuitous route to my hotel—major streets in the center of town were closed to traffic for a festival.

Not just any festival, but one that comes to town only every three years: Züri Fäscht.

Having grown up with easy access to beach boardwalks on the east coast, I was at home with the rides and the games and the prizes, and with the smiles on children's faces. Push-bikes on an obstacle course ... I don't think this would be possible, back home. [What if a child got hurt?!]

Less familiar were the foods: everything from Argentinian to Yemeni.

There was an airshow, formation flying, daredevil pilots, and helicopters doing things I never imagined a helicopter could do.

I walked and walked. [Daylight is good for combating jet lag.]

I scored a prime fireworks-viewing spot on the lakeside wall. I was starting to feel tired, but .. hey, I can sit. That's not much to ask. The sun sets late at this latitude, but the pyrotechnics were worth the wait. Several paragliders dropped from above to the theme from Skyfall, landing on the platform to get the the show started.

I'd seen something about a drone show that would follow the fireworks, but with no apparent activity I headed back to the hotel.

They launched more fireworks at 1 a.m. (sadly, not visible from my room). And the drone show? I heard it started around 5 a.m.

I headed back on Sunday morning, determined to explore the full extent of Züri Fäscht (and, evidently, a second celebration that happens every year: Caliente).

The site was ... a colossal mess. [How un-Swiss!] The cleanup crew corralled the debris with leaf blowers and rakes. A street sweeper averted catastrophe by climbing out of his machine to set aside two giant rolls of toilet paper before they spun into his brushes.

There was a woman in a red dress walking a very long tightrope spanning the river, strung between buildings.

There were high-divers—some serious, some clowning around.

There were amphibious convertibles (!).

I walked and walked. And then I walked some more. [30,000+ steps for the day.]

There was music. Kids playing what looked like kayak-polo. A tank where you could try scuba-diving.

A giant water slide that launched riders into the river.

And chocolate-dipped strawberries on skewers. [Mmm. And again, mmm.]

The random selection of old books in my hotel room included a copy of In Bicicletta a Beverly Hills (yes, in Italian). They didn't know that, after this week in Zürich, I would start my cycling holiday. Not in Beverly Hills, but in Baveno. Italy.

Or, did they?!

Faster than Some

Slower than most.

The Best Buddies Sonoma training ride has become one of my favorites. I was looking forward to visiting the same Airbnb hosts again, but maybe they're working on the renovation they mentioned last year—their listing wasn't available to book.

I was stunned when I realized that the place I did find, this year, was right on the edge of the burn zone in Santa Rosa. As in, one or two blocks away. This was a direct connection to a dramatic video I'd seen in the aftermath of that fire, when firefighters from Berkeley rolled into town and found a neighborhood to defend after realizing that their assigned rendezvous point had already been lost. This was that neighborhood.

Our ride would be less hot than last year (hurray!). Our Ringleader Richard sorted the 40-milers into three groups after we'd covered a few miles. Not surprisingly, I landed in the middle group ... after hanging on at 16.4 mph (!) for the first 30 minutes (climbing 270 feet in the process).

Eventually I would slip off the back. Despite Richard's colorful admonitions not to be a “martyr” and ride alone, I am content to do exactly that. The slow group would be too pokey for me, and I'd be disappointed not to collect a good photo or two.

The middle group left the rest stop first; the fast riders waited for the slow riders to arrive, allowing for a somewhat tighter finish. [A less spread-out finish, anyway.] Along the way another rider fell in with me; his buddy was with the fast pack. A mile or two later, he said “I'd ride anywhere with you, you're very consistent!” [Well, I have that going for me. That, and descending.]

The fast group would pass us, of course. Back at the ranch, Richard's closing remarks were poignant. “I know how some of you felt this morning, wondering whether you could keep up, whether you could do this ride. Remember that feeling? That's what our Buddies feel, every single day.”

And that is why I keep supporting this organization.

I did push myself hard today, 835 feet of climbing over 38 miles, averaging 14.7 mph. [Unnaturally fast, for me. But, evidently, possible.]