AlpRundweg Leiterli / Simmenfälle

Everybody was ready for a rest day. Which, of course, means: Let's go hiking!

With summertime passes for the ski gondolas, we headed for the top of the mountain. I was so distracted by the world around me that I was halfway through our hike before I remembered to start recording a track; and later, I was already heading down on the gondola when I remembered to stop recording.

As if the wildflowers and mountain peaks were not enough, a few added features brought smiles.

On a lift tower near the top, strikers were mounted to play a tune whenever cowbells (attached to the cable) came by. [Clever.]

Hand-carved posts were placed at intervals along the AlpRundweg Leiterli trail, each depicting a local activity and telling a story.

After lunch, and (you guessed it) another lovely pastry, I wandered about Lenk. If I'd had a plan, it wouldn't have included retiring to my hotel room.

The River Simme runs through town, with a wanderweg alongside. I started walking upstream, toward the mountains. A trail sign pointed toward Simmenfälle, which I recognized would be a waterfall. With an eye on the time, I kept hiking. As with many trail signs here, no distance was given.

I followed a Helsana trail, sometimes crossing the river, noting landmarks to guide my return trip. One kilometer from the falls, a sign finally revealed the distance.

I know it's the age of the selfie (and the obnoxious “selfie stick”), but I'm of the generation that would rather engage with my fellow humans. “Would you like a photo, together?” I asked. [Of course!] Mom, dad, toddler, and the dog in front of the waterfall. In exchange, the family happily returned the favor.

My afternoon hike was longer than the morning's, some six miles along the river. With time to appreciate the wildflowers, I returned in time for dinner.

Lenk im Simmental

Sometimes there is no Plan B.

Our next destination, Lenk im Simmental, was on the other side of the mountains; the shortest route is actually by bicycle—about 34 miles, but with more than 5,000 feet of climbing. Our chosen path was more mellow—about 54 miles, with an estimated 3,500 feet of climbing. By car, 100 miles. By train? Complicated.

Plan A was to ride up to the Gemmipass in a cablecar with our bicycles, bike along the unpaved-but-packed trail along the ridge, and then ride another cablecar down a different slope to start our journey on the road. On a clear day, the views would be unrivaled.

So it was not good that the top of the mountain was hiding in the clouds, and less good that it was, in fact, raining.

We waited a bit, perhaps for the weather to improve, perhaps while our host explored alternative options. Then we biked over to the Gemmi-Bahnen, where the operators gave us a quizzical look. Were these folks, with their road bikes, really going up in the cablecar ... in the rain? I imagine they expected us to return in short order.

Especially since they knew more about the conditions at the top than we did.

The gravel trail was mostly exposed, often single track ... through snowfields.

Today would be pep's introduction to mountain biking (without the mountain bike).

We knew that some of this trail would not be rideable on our bikes, and that we would hike short distances. I normally wear mountain biking shoes (with recessed cleats, and some tread) for ease of walking—indispensable, today.

Apprehensive at first, hiking seemed wiser to me than biking. But biking, of course, is faster.

Tentatively, I made my way along the path. When the exposed trail was a series of large stone blocks, I guessed that we were really traversing the top of a wall; snow filled in the slope below us. I dismounted and walked; little margin for error, there.

Gravel and snow and mud ... oh my! A fellow rider coached me. “Slide back off the saddle, more weight over the back wheel.” His wife darted ahead, her mountain biking skills evident.

When I stopped to snap a photo near the Daubensee, one of our riders suddenly realized that he no longer had his camera. [Note to fellow aficionados: offload vacation photos from your camera's storage daily.] He backtracked, but didn't find it.

This being Switzerland, the story of the lost camera has a happy ending. He had spoken to some hikers on the trail, who miraculously found—and forwarded—the camera. Too bad they didn't snap a photo of themselves, for posterity.

We regrouped at the Berghotel Schwarenbach, once visited by Mark Twain, where a hot cup of tea and a pastry were most welcome. When we reached the cablecar at Sunnbüel, we had traversed more than five miles along the ridge.

From the snowfields to the tropics, our next destination was the town of Frutigen, where we would meet for lunch at the Tropenhaus. “Just follow the signs,” our host told us, as he stayed back with a trailing rider.

We rolled into town; there were no signs, we had no address, and none of us remembered the name of the place. I pulled out my smartphone. It seemed like a long shot, but what the heck. “OK, Google,” I said. “Where is the tropical restaurant in Frutigen?” Up came a listing for the place, along with the address and its location on the map. I was certain that “Frutigen” would not be understood, and here I was presented with an arrow for turn-by-turn navigation details. It's magic, essentially.

With most of our route ahead of us, we were not eager to linger over lunch. There were some differences of opinion about the route we should follow; the shortest route entailed more climbing than any of us wanted. The group split, then came back together before two riders decided to rely on their Garmin for an alternative route.

On an unpaved trail through some fields, I misjudged a patch of gravel. Deeper than I expected, it grabbed at my front wheel. I went down hard. Rattled, but only scraped, I stayed on the roads after that.

By the time I got to our hotel, I was one tired puppy. The first part of our journey on the Gemmipass took one hour and 45 minutes; the second part, on the road, five hours and 15 minutes. I can only estimate our climbing for the day, as my bike computer had decided to go on strike. Two apps running on my smartphone have reported vastly different elevation gains for the same routes throughout this trip: for example, 4,456 feet and 3,206 feet for the second part of our route. The estimate at GPSies: 3,493 feet. For the day, we biked some 54 miles.

We checked in and got cleaned up. Besides the view, my room had a balcony complete with flowers and a fold-down rack where I hung my laundry to dry.

Those two riders who had gone their own way? Missing.

The call came during dinner, and our co-host left to retrieve them. Two more tired puppies.

What a day!

Furkapass

The group splintered today.

One choice was to get a ride to the top of the first climb. [Unthinkable.]

Another choice was to go the distance. [Perhaps a bit much, at my pace.]

The route included some flat meandering through a valley, book-ended by challenging climbs. I studied the map and the train schedule, and hatched a plan. About halfway along the route, I would hop on a train and cut out some 30 miles, disembarking in the town at the base of the climb to our hotel.

I was on my own, for a lovely, leisurely, long climb up to the summit of the Furkapass, which tops out at 7,976 feet.

I could stop whenever I wanted.

I could stop wherever I wanted.

I could stop as often as I wanted.

(And I did.)

But I did need to keep making forward progress.

I was banking on making good time on the descent.

The train from Fiesch to Leuk was not direct, but I managed to do the right thing. When I saw a horde of children and bicycles waiting for the connecting train, I made a dash for a less populated bike car.

I was starting to roll out of the station when ... was that someone calling my name? Yes! There were two of the riders from our group, waiting for a lift to the top. It was ambiguous whether that would be by bus or our host's car and trailer, but I was having none of that.

There were more surprises in store. First, one of the riders decided to join me, having regretted that he'd bailed on the Oberalppass. Second, the route went steeply up the hill at the start. And I do mean steeply. Luckily, it mellowed out after that. Third, I wasn't expecting a 10-mile climb (but that's what it was). Clearly I didn't study the route profile.

The climb must be popular with the locals. A strong cyclist caught me on the outskirts of Leukerbad, offering a friendly Ciao! Rain started coming down hard (surprise number four), and he turned back.

Rather a lot of cycling today. The first part of my journey was 39 miles, with some 3,583 feet of climbing; the second climb, 10 miles and 2,320 feet. In other words, 49 miles and more than 5,900 feet of climbing.

I found the hotel. Most importantly, I made it to the dinner table on time.

Schöllenen Gorge

Given today's short ride, there was time for a bonus hike (and history lesson).

To begin our loop, we walked through a tunnel with passages dedicated for autos, pedestrians, and trains, located along a key route through the Alps.

We followed the trail for a little more than a mile, down (and back up) steps, through tunnels, and ultimately over the old bridge itself. My legs reminded me that they'd climbed nearly 7,000 feet in the past two days.

The Teufelsbrücke (Devil's Bridge) spans the Schöllenen Gorge. Several bridges preceded it, the first dating back to the 13th century. It's an impressive feat of engineering. The gorge is deep, the waters of the Reuss fast-moving. How did the first people decide it was feasible to build a bridge here, and then carry through?

This site saw a battle in 1799, when the Russian general Suvorov fought against the French forces of Napoleon. A monument to the Russians who lost their lives is hewn into the adjacent cliff.

At the start of our hike, we had passed an apparent bunker in the rock wall. Fortunate are we, to come in peace.

Gotthardpass

Those who skipped yesterday's climb were itching to ride. Our leader suggested a short trip up the Gotthardpass.

Why not? Besides, it wasn't raining.

This was not a pre-planned route. The rest of the group was out of sight when the slowest of us reached a fork in the road. Stay on the highway, or take the old road? Looking up at the “new” road, with a long uphill tunnel and fast-moving traffic, the old road was much more enticing. Having done some research last night about the Gotthardpass, I knew there were cobblestones. The classic approach (for bicycle racers) ascends the other side of the pass—cobbles all the way. For us, merely 3 km (a little under 2 miles). Take it from me: that's plenty of cobbles.

The theme for today? Waterfalls and wildflowers. Oh, and snow.

Facing a second day of wind and cold temperatures, I regretted not bringing a Buff on this trip. [Something easily remedied later this afternoon at a shop in Andermatt.]

I was grateful to warm up with a cup of hot tea and a pastry at the top, and looked forward to a fast and smooth descent on the “new” road.

But alas, it was not to be. We followed our leader, and ... he turned onto the cobbles of the old road. Cobblestones call for staying loose on the bike. I had a bit of an over-training headache from yesterday's exertion, and ... every ... little ... jostle ... hurt.

At 6,909 feet, the Gotthardpass tops out higher than the Oberalppass.

Today's divertissement (16 miles, 2,240 feet of climbing) left time for some sightseeing and shopping back in town. No regrets.