Moosegg

I spent some time last night studying the map. I had half a mind to go out on my own, after yesterday, and plotted a course to follow a nearby section of the Heart Route.

But I resolved to get over it (yesterday, that is) and be social, instead. This would be our last ride of the trip, and the finale for our host after some 20 years of leading tours like this. Some folks in our group had been on his earliest rides, some had been on more than they could count. My first trip was eight years ago, and I reflected on how these friends had met and aged together. Twelve years from now, will I still be touring?

I made sure I was planted in front of the hotel well before our announced departure time.

Our host mentioned that there might be some steep sections. [Indeed.] We all did some walking when the grade hit 13% (and topped out over 19%).

I turned to Google Translate to decipher this caution sign. “Wood envelope” was the answer. [Um, I don't think so.] Try “lumber yard” (right around the bend). We were in logging territory.

The ride was going smoothly until we arrived at the place where we expected to eat, the Hotel Moosegg, where they were apparently not serving (or perhaps not serving anyone other than their guests, as the tables were set with baskets of croissants). We backtracked to the patio garden of the Gastof Waldhäusern, which was well-placed and welcoming to cyclists.

The butterflies and bees in their garden were busy with the blue globe-thistle.

We found another steep section, this one with just two tracks of pavement; we walked up (and down).

When we reached a freshly paved downhill, I took off. There was a nice big tree at the bottom where we found some shade as we waited for the slower descenders to arrive. It had seemed obvious to head straight down to the main road, but apparently our host had wanted to take a right turn before that. I was surprised, because I didn't see anything that looked like an intersection along the way (or I would have stopped).

And that, perhaps, was the genesis of the confusion that sent us astray. We turned right on the main road, and kept riding. South. Through Signau, which was one of the towns along the route I'd drafted for myself the night before. What was the plan, today? Were we heading for a return-by-train?

When we stopped for a photo-op at this traditional farm building, our host clambered right up to the second level. Unthinkable, this would be, in the U.S. [Trespassing!]

I do prefer the countryside, but it was evident that we continued to travel away from, not toward, Burgdorf. It was another hot day; we stopped at a fountain to douse ourselves with water and refill our bottles.

Approaching mile 24, our host said something about ice cream in the next town. And then the group splintered. One of my Garmin-equipped friends turned north, and three of us followed. Six miles later, on the main road again, we passed that tree where I'd waited at the bottom of the hill. [The other two continued their misadventure with the leader.]

We were eager to get back to Burgdorf, but took a brief break to admire a (busy) covered bridge.

On the outskirts of town, Burgdorf Castle was a welcome sight! We covered 41 miles and about 2000 feet of climbing; the others ... had a longer ride.

We had ample time to disassemble and pack our bikes, get cleaned up, and share our stories over one last dinner together.

These trips have made good friendships and good memories, despite the mishaps; I will miss all of that.

Bern

Gone in 30 seconds.

I was left behind.

At 7:55 a.m I left my helmet and water bottles on a table in the lobby, near the front door, like every other cycling day. People were milling about. Then I walked down to the garage to get my bike, like every other cycling day.

Just as I crossed the lobby with my bike, I saw last rider roll away from the front of the hotel.

Nine people didn't notice I wasn't there, which made me sad. I considered my options. Without a route plan, I had no hope that I would find them if I chased after them.

A few who weren't cycling sprang into action; one ran shouting after the group, but they didn't notice. Two phoned our host, who (luckily) answered and circled back.

When we caught up to the group, no one even said “I'm sorry.” Which made me more sad.

I kept to myself and right behind the leader, determined not to get lost. When there was uncertainty about the route and a rider asked my advice, I just shrugged. [You figure it out.]

After nearly two hours I broke my silence only when we rolled into Bern and a guy sitting on a bench playfully called out Tour de France, Tour de France! I replied Merci! with a smile.

We checked our bikes in the underground bike parking at the train station and walked toward—but short of—the Aare River. There had been much talk of the river, but there was only a quick view from a bridge as we entered town.

The city is a mix of the old and the new, clock towers and fountains and modern signs on buildings that have seen many shops come and go.

Imagine how many naughty children have been frightened by the Child Eater Fountain since it was created in the 16th century. As gruesome as any of the old fairy tales!

We stopped for a snack at a “pop-up” café. Run by a single person, we overwhelmed it. The group had split by then, but some non-cycling folks from our group joined us. Her four options quickly were reduced to three, only one of which I might have considered eating. Not the cheesecake. Not the horsemeat tartare. It was beet hummus or nothing. I had a ginger-something iced tea and regretted not carrying my own snack today.

I was hot and sweaty and hungry and thirsty and disappointed. In a word, cranky. I was not well-disposed to enjoying Switzerland's capitol city. We saw the parliament building, where some folks in black and white seemed to be staging an Abbey-Road-like photo shoot in front of the building.

We saw the Berner Münster (Bern Cathedral) and its ornate entrance.

But mostly we saw shop windows ... and nicer sidewalk cafés.

We walked back toward the train station, and our group of six was content to catch a train back to Burgdorf. I tried not to intervene, but finally gave up and pointed out which train and track we needed (lest we miss it). [Bravo, SBB app.] Our host tried to make it easier by purchasing all our tickets, but after waiting in (and leaving) the ticket office and struggling with two separate ticket vending machines, I didn't want to miss the next possible train.

When you travel with a bicycle on Swiss trains, you need a ticket for you and a ticket for your bike; the machines were apparently not cooperating and our leader bought only passenger tickets. Given that our group had been scolded (twice) on trains during this trip, I used the app to buy myself a bike pass. Just in case. [No one checked our tickets. This time.]

I'm guessing the other four riders had a better outing, as they were not yet back when we returned.

We biked only 19 miles, with 1,220 feet of climbing. I do prefer the countryside.