Burgdorf

Arrivederci, Baveno—we're on our way to Burgdorf (Switzerland).

The logistics were ... complicated. Four vehicles, one dog, 26 people and their luggage. And, of course, many bicycles. Our host mapped it out the night before: which bags and bikes to load in which vehicle; the people would travel (mostly) by train. A few of us would rendezvous with the van in Thun, set up our bikes and pedal on to Burgdorf.

Loading was a matter of fitting the puzzle pieces together. A layer of luggage on the bottom, bikes separated by cardboard barriers stacked above. We'd removed pedals, turned handlebars, and lowered saddles to flatten the bikes.

From prior experience, I had every expectation that something would go sideways with a plan this complex, and I was part of the Thun-to-Burgdorf contingent. Rather than load a bag with my loose parts (pedals, saddle+seatpost, shoes, helmet, water bottles) into a vehicle, I wore the shoes and carried the rest onto the train in a drawstring bag.

An imposing building high on a hillside caught our eye, but it was just a clever facade.

In Thun, a passerby recognized my bike jersey (!) and stopped, incredulous to find me (a member of the same Bay Area bike club) sitting on a bench in Switzerland. [These things happen.] I was too distracted to get a photo together, as I was focused on whether I would have enough time to continue our journey by bicycle, or would need to re-board a train (with regret). One of the cars had swung by and let us know that the van would likely arrive later than planned.

This route, I had thought, would likely be one of the most scenic of the trip.

And, I was right!

There was some drama when the van arrived and one rider's bag of loose parts was not in it. [See what I mean?] I found a shady spot to put my bike back together, and it wasn't long before two of us were on our way, following an actual GPS-plotted route through the Swiss countryside.

That is, until we were encouraged to divert to the main road. No more rolling hills, but no more charming farmhouses, either.

The center of Schwarzenegg was a bit confusing, so perhaps the main road was a better choice; the planned side road ended up there, anyway.

We climbed the Schallenberg Pass, and the views were lovely.

The road was smooth and inviting. Too inviting. Don't bike this road on a weekend, as we did.

Motorcyclists in full body gear flew past us at excessive speeds, rounding the corners with their knees inches from the pavement, as if it were track day. There was no shoulder on the road, as you can see, and they slowed for no one.

It was terrifying. (And I'm accustomed to sharing the fun roads with motorcycles back home.)

We regrouped at a restaurant at the summit, where we found folks in two of our vehicles waiting to greet us. Along with a horde of motorcyclists.

I was eager to move along, unsure of what I'd find on the road ahead. [An Aeromotor-style windmill, as it turned out!]

Fields of wheat. And, mercifully, no more motorcycle madness.

Off the back and on my own, I was content to roll at my own pace, confidently following the GPS track. After crossing this bridge, it was not entirely clear whether I was meant to continue on the (now-dirt) path or take the road. [I chose the road.]

On the outskirts of town, I met another cyclist from our group who had been circling around, uncertain of the route to our hotel. With an assist from Google Maps, I sorted it out and led the way. Feeling spent from a moderately stressful day, it was less than helpful when I asked where I needed to park my bicycle and got “in the garage” as an answer. “Let me show you” was what I needed after a trying 39 miles and 2,300 feet of climbing.

Looking forward to tomorrow.

Domodossola

The best laid plans ...

We were to have lunch in Domodossola, and return by train.

We set off in two groups, passing through the now-familiar town of Mergozzo along the lake. We continued north on a lovely side road, until ... we could continue no more. The road was under repair, and closed. Now, it would have been helpful to have posted a sign at the first intersection ... or maybe we missed it.

The second group was heading up as we backtracked. “The road is closed!” we shouted. They kept riding, and so did we (in the opposite direction). After we turned off the road, our leader stopped to study the map and re-route us. We expected the second group to catch up. [They didn't.] Meanwhile, we'd lost one of our riders, who'd kept looking toward the Toce River and his Garmin, and had stopped. [We expected him to catch up, too. He didn't.]

It wasn't turning out to be the sort of day for picture-taking. Without a route plan, I had to ensure that I stayed with the group. We paused next to a display of some armaments, but didn't venture into the park to learn more.

It was the sort of day for stormy weather. There would be thundershowers in the mountains, certainly. I was happy when we found our way to a scenic, less traveled road. One of the women in our group commented on my riding style. “You're such a smooth rider, it's like following a Lincoln!” [High praise, indeed.]

Much to our surprise, as we cycled along the main road, we found the rest of our group. They had spoken to the construction crew, who'd routed them to a nearby bridge over the river (for bikes and pedestrians). The same bridge that our missing rider had seen on his Garmin, and also taken.

Our journey was taking longer than expected, so we stopped for lunch in Villadossola. All we saw of Domodossola was the train station.

There was time, however, for some gelato. I chose Bésame Mucho, because ... why not? It was clearly a popular flavor, and it caused the concessionaire to break into song.

Some chose to ride back, into a stiff headwind. I was content to board the train. Our “short” outing to Domodossola was 36 miles, but only 721 feet of climbing. [Flat.]