Grindelwald

Two of us had a plan to escape the heat wave.

Three trains later, we were at the foot of the Bernese Alps, in Grindelwald.

It was all so simple with the SBB app. Plug in your destination, browse through your options, tap and get your ticket as a QR-style code. You'll see the platform for your arrival and connection, and you'll see where you are as the train is en route.

My friend had been here on a prior cycling trip and knew what we should do. We hopped on a bus that took us up the mountain to Grosse Scheidegg; given the time we had, we chose an easy hike above the valley to First, where we could catch a gondola back down to the road. Basically, it was this route (but in the opposite direction).

We made slow progress, stopping frequently to admire the vistas.

And the wildflowers!

It was an easy hike, but we picked up the pace as we approached First to ensure we'd get back down to Grindelwald in time to catch the train we wanted.

That said, mountains never to be trifled with. We passed a plaque in memory of an experienced local guide and two other men who lost their lives along this route in August, 2000.

The trail snakes along the slopes of the Schwarzhorn; in one section, there were still patches of snow.

Melting and flowing down the mountain.

We made it back to Burgdorf in time for dinner.

Not your average day hike, eh? [Well, unless you're Swiss.]

Affoltern im Emmental

Say “cheese!”

This wheel was set up for picture-taking, but if you look closely you'll see that it's (oddly) printed with images of two men in hand-to-hand combat. Significance lost in translation, perhaps.

Cheese-making is a messy business, as we witnessed at the Emmentaler (demonstration) factory.

The weather was heating up, and the haze and morning light spoiled our view of the Bernese Alps.

There were a few clouds above the famous peaks (Eiger, Mönch, and Jungfrau), but we could just barely see them.

Given our short ride (21 miles, 1,240 feet of climbing), there was ample time to explore a bit of Burgdorf afterward.

Despite being a modern building, our hotel lacked airconditioning (and fans). We cooled ourselves at the Museum Franz Gertsch, created to display his photo-realistic art. I was drawn to this painting, Gräser IV; but unless you are familiar with his work, you would not guess that it measures more than 9 x 14 feet in size.

Walking back to the hotel, we found a discount electronics store. “Do you sell fans?” my friend asked. Yes!!! Relief! Sleep! I have rarely been so excited about such a humble purchase. I assembled it, plugged it in, and bliss ensued. Two speeds! And it even oscillated!

After dinner, a few of us strolled through town and caught a magnificent sunset. Two of us hatched a plan to play hooky tomorrow. “You haven't seen the mountains,” my friend said. “Besides, it will be cooler there.”

Biel/Bienne

Electric bikes are a common sight over here, and today I confirmed a hunch of mine when I passed two of them. (On a downhill stretch.) They're speed-limited (and I'm not).

No ride through the countryside is without its surprises. Four or five storks were foraging in a field behind a farmer who was mowing. We watched one swoop in to land—what a wing span!

Near one farm, we came upon a large dog lying in the middle of the road. His territory. We stopped; he stared. The standoff was broken when he got up and sauntered over to be petted. [Whew.]

We crossed the Aare River and stopped for a snack in Solothurn, leading to the first crisis of the day.

As we prepared to leave, one of our riders could not find his backpack; we all had that sinking feeling despite being puzzled about how it could have disappeared. After much searching and confusion, it was found—on his wife's back. (Along with her own pack.)

Our route took us past not only BMC, but also Canyon. I knew BMC was Swiss, but thought Canyon was German.

We also found the Velodrome Suisse and charmed them into letting us inside to take a peek at the track.

Our destination, for lunch, was Biel/Bienne, a French-speaking pocket of Switzerland. And there I learned a valuable lesson at the Brasserie City-Bar.

Although there is free drinking water in fountains everywhere, in restaurants you're typically obliged to purchase mineral water by the bottle. We ordered “still,” not con gas, and the first bottle arrived chilled. After draining that, we ordered a second. Unlike our waiter, who delivered the first bottle sealed, the woman who brought the second bottle to our table twisted the cap before setting it down. [Because, as we would otherwise have discovered, it wasn't sealed in the first place.] Not chilled, and lacking that distinctive mineral tang, this café is evidently in the habit of cheating unsuspecting tourists by saving and refilling empty bottles with tap water. A reason, perhaps, to opt for the fizzy variety in the future.

The front of the train station looked like the site of a homeless encampment or a major protest, covered as it was with scrap wood, posters, and crudely scrawled messages in French and German. It was, evidently, the artist Thomas Hirschhorn's homage to local writer Robert Walser. I'm afraid the genius of his artwork was lost on me.

Our return to Burgdorf required changing trains in Zollikofen, which led to the second fumble of the day. Our host did not explain how little time we had to change trains; while most of us carried our bikes up (and back down) the stairs to the adjacent platform, another rider lost time waiting for an elevator that was evidently not operating. On the bright side, the missed connection afforded the opportunity to visit the market across the street for some ice cream before the next train would arrive.

Knowing I couldn't keep up with the stronger riders today, I enjoyed this outing with the mellow group: a mere 34 miles and 518 feet of climbing.

Huttwil

Our host is a strong and experienced cyclist, but sometimes ... a bit scattered. And so it was that our day got off to an awkward start because, somehow, he cross-threaded his pedals when re-attaching them to his bike. With as many cyclists as we have, there were enough “mechanics” in the group attempting to sort this out, so I kept my distance. It's not an uncommon mistake, but it can be a costly one.

The rain cleared up to give us fresh blue skies, and what's not to love about the Swiss countryside?

Sunshine and sunflowers brought smiles to our faces. Blue skies, blue jersey, yellow flowers. I chose the right outfit this morning!

We made a loop today, passing through Langenthal where this specimen was on display outside (what I think was) a training center. I was charmed by a family with two kids on tiny bikes; the little (and I mean, little) girl was a complete daredevil: repeatedly racing up an incline and speeding back down, shrieking with delight. [A kindred spirit!]

Our destination was Huttwil, where we descended on a café on the old town's central plaza for lunch and admired the bell tower of the local church.

The weather is heating up, so we were grateful to enjoy a scenic, social sort of ride: 47 miles, with only 1,440 feet of climbing.

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.]

Macugnaga

While most of the people in our group are from the US, six are European. One of those had researched an interesting region nearby and invited a few of us to join him for a hike.

It's all so scenic. Even the drinking water..

We did see the occasional cyclist on the climb to the town of Macugnaga, but the drive from our home base took more than an hour. We skirted the town, heading straight for the cable car (La Regina dei Ghiacci, the Ice Queen) that would carry us almost to the top of the ridge.

Almost. It drops you off at an elevation of 9,465 feet. The Madonna delle Nevi (Madonna of the Snows) sits higher on the ridge at the Passo del Monte Moro.

We traversed a few snow fields before making our way up the rock.

It helps to be sure-footed. I was glad I'd brought my gloves, not just for the cold but to protect my hands as I gripped a chain to pull myself upward. The logs (held in place by iron rods driven into the rock) played more of a role on the way back down.

At these heights, the weather is always a factor. Would we see anything when we made it to the top, or would we be wrapped in a cloud?

The ridge is, more or less, the Italian/Swiss border. For a time, we had a clear view of the reservoir at the Mattmark Dam, and we chatted with a hiker who climbed up from the Swiss side.

And, of course, we got a close look at the golden statue.

As the clouds descended above our heads, it was prudent to head back down.

The summit of Monte Rosa was obscured, but we could see the base of the Belvedere glacier at the foot of the mountain. A few mountain goats were studying the view, too.

We had time for more exploring, so we headed toward Monte Rosa. An expeditious pair of chairlifts carried us partway up the mountain.

We hiked through the forest, and popped out on a narrow trail.

Stretched below us was the vast field of scree deposited by the Belvedere glacier.

As tempting as it was to hike down, it seemed dicey.

The trail was steep, and the surface was loose rock. We watched a pair of hikers (with poles) climb up, but it was our descent (without poles) that worried me.

We turned back and enjoyed an afternoon treat with a view, instead.