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.

Oberalppass

Rain. Again.

I came here to ride my bicycle, not to tour the country by car. If I don't ride today, in the rain, I will miss the opportunity to climb an alpine pass. I did, after all, bring rain gear.

I suited up. The radar map was less discouraging; today, the rain would not be constant.

The Tour de Suisse is underway, and although our routes will not align with the race, the team cars were advancing to reach Flims, for the noontime start of Stage 4. On a rural road,we rounded a bend and along came a bright green car of the chief sponsor (Vaudoise) adorned with a giant cyclist on the roof in the yellow jersey kit of a race leader. The driver was enthusiastic, honking and waving at us. Later, the team cars for Cannondale-Garmin and Lampre-Merida would appear—always around a bend, faster than I could snap a photo.

This style of stacking logs was common here, but new to me. In a word: ingenious.

I encouraged the rest of the group to go ahead. I was quite the sight in my rain gear: black shoe covers, rain pants and jacket streaked with road grime; a clear shower cap covering the vents in my helmet. To keep my hands warm, I recalled this helpful hint: wear thin latex gloves layered under regular long-fingered gloves. Your hands get wet as they sweat inside that latex, but they're warm.

Our co-leaders were staying dry today; I met up with them at a café, where I indulged in my favored local treat for this trip: a nut tart (my second of the day).

The long climb came late on the route. A sign confirmed that the pass was open; I paused to let a passel of Porsches have their fun. As expected, the rain let up for a spell. Wildflowers alongside the road cheered me, and ... I just kept turning the pedals.

Higher and higher I climbed, till I was higher than patches of snow. At 6,722 feet,
the pass is high enough to be included on a list of the highest paved roads in Europe (though, not the highest of the passes I've cycled). At the summit of the Oberalppass, it was not liquid water that was falling from the sky—it was sleet.

I knew there would be tunnels. This tunnel near the summit has two passageways, one for the railroad and one for autos. I was fortunate to have the tunnel to myself.

And then, I was in the cloud. A real, big, mountaintop cloud. How effective was my blinking red taillight? Visibility was a few feet, nothing more. I slowed my pace to be sure I stayed on the road, hoping for the best as I negotiated the switchbacks down the other side of the mountain.

Where was I? How much farther did I need to go? On a clear day, I would have seen the town and the valley below. Today, I could only hope that I was still heading in the right direction.

Eventually I dropped low enough on the mountain to see the valley, and a town. Surely, that must be Andermatt? (It was.)

The view from my hotel room could not have been more charming.

A day to stand tall: only three of us did the climb—the rest bailed out and boarded a train. For me, 47 miles with 4,700 feet of climbing.

Versam

If I can see my reflection on the road, I'd rather stay home. But today we needed to move on to the next town, some 50 miles away.

I looked at the weather radar map.

Rain, lots of it. Rain, along the entire route. Rain, all day.

Two riders wimped out. I was one of them. Bikes were loaded into the trailer, riders were loaded into the car. We shadowed the rest of the group as as they progressed along the route. They were cold. They were wet. But they were determined.

Everyone made it safely to our destination; again, a few opted for a boost by train.

We stopped for a good view of a pair of bridges (one old, one new) spanning a deep and narrow gorge.

Farther along, we paused to admire the Ruinaulta, impressive even on a rainy day.

Our destination was the town of Versam, which seemed (to me) like the very town you might picture when you picture Switzerland.

The local church, along with its beautifully carved and painted organ, dates back to the 18th century.

Our hotel was perched on a cliff at the edge of town. Irregular additions to the building over the years made room numbers impractical. The innkeeper led the way, showing me where to turn at each staircase and level. On my door, and on the key ring, were wooden panels with handpainted images of a horse. Across the hall was the “stork” room (and so forth).

Dinner featured a traditional local dish, a kind of dumpling called capuns.

I'm not convinced there's a better way to visit a country than on the seat of a bicycle. Though, perhaps not on a rainy day.

Rinerhorn

After yesterday's challenging ride, today was a planned rest day. The local area is keen to promote tourism during the off season (this being ski territory), and so we received passes good for some local bus routes and attractions.

Our hosts had something special in mind: reputedly one of the top ten hikes in Switzerland.

Gondolas whisked us to the top of the Rinerhorn, where a wonderland of wildflowers awaited.

Being rather a fan of wildflowers (and I mean that in the true sense of the word: fanatic), I was enthralled. The meadows were carpeted with flowers, with more variety than I had ever seen. This spawned a friendly guessing game at dinner: “How many pictures of flowers did pep take today?”

My GPS spontaneously shut down early on the hike, so I have only a partial track to share.

The view of the Sertig valley was breathtaking. We hiked along the ridge before dropping down to cross the Sertigbach and enjoy lunch on the deck at the Restaurant zum Bergfuhrer in Sertig Dörfli.

Oh, the flowers! The snow-capped peaks! The chalets! The Swiss countryside is like something out of a fairy tale.

I was fascinated by these rigs, sharpened branches criss-crossed just so. I noticed they were frequently hung over windows, and wondered if they were a form of shutter. One of my hosts, expert on local history and traditions, enlightened me. They're racks, used to elevate hay bales in the fields to dry them.

The transportation network here is phenomenal. We boarded a bus that returned us to Davos, where some of our group hoped to view an exhibit at the art museum. We wandered through town; there was no museum in sight. This being a Sunday, virtually everything was closed. I pulled out my smartphone, and (you guessed it) found the museum on a parallel street.

It was closed. A pastry shop was open, though. Our group had winnowed down to three, and I persuaded them to put our passes to good use on the Schatzalp-bahn funicular.


The skies were dark and the raindrops started falling. My companions had little enthusiasm for lingering at the top. “Just a little farther,” I coaxed, admiring the flowers. Our host explained that this one, in particular, was special: an alpine orchid, the broad-leaved marsh orchid. We had seen a few on the Rinerhorn, and here was a meadow dotted with them.

Not all of my flower photos were keepers, of course; some were blurry, some were repeats. How many unique specimens did I capture? Half of all I shot? One-third? The unexpurgated total (close-up photos, not sweeping vistas): sixty-three.