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Saanenmoser Pass in more appropriate weather. Photo credit: Wikipedia |
40 miles - Tuesday, September 20
I spent the first two hours under my grey fuzzy balaclava.
Before we left Interlaken we mailed a postcard to Katy,
notifying her of our quandary as to how to communicate. It’s the best we can
do.
The morning quickly warmed, though hazy sunshine is all the
Swiss September will allow. The snow-capped mountains provide grinning views.
Despite pedaling beside lovely turquoise lakes, the stunning scenery is also a
tease; we’ve lost ground against the weather.
When I’m lost in silent contemplation, scared, in pity, thinking
of shivering cold nights in a tent, Andy whistles or sings. He purposely
changes the lyrics to suit our situation. I know he means well, but there are times
I want to be left alone.
In the course of planning this yearlong adventure, when
excitement screams “I want to see everything!”, it’s easy to shut out the bad, the
lonely, the desperation which must also accompany any extended journey. This
afternoon, when we stopped beside the road for a cookie break, I cried. I wanted,
more than ever, to curl up on a couch with a blanket, a cup of tea, and a good
book.
I felt better a little later. We started climbing the long Nieder
Simmental Valley, when the sun breathed rays
of hope. Then past Latterbach and Erlenbach – all small villages. After Weissenbach
the road rose above tree level and we spied train tracks across the mountain
pasture. The traffic was light, and for a while all was right on the bike.
The break in weather did not last long. Before we knew it we
were ascending in cold showers. At the summit town of Saanenmoser, at 1200
meters, my mittened hands turn numb. When this happens I have trouble warming them
again, and if by some miracle it does happen, it could be a couple hours. We
stopped for information and discover a hostel in the next village.
Saanan-Gstaad Hostel. Photo credit: Swiss Youth Hostels |
First we need to drop several hundred feet. It’s a frightening situation. I can’t feel my
hands, but I must periodically squeeze the cold, metal brake levers. I want to
weep. I struggle, dismissing the thought for the moment. If I can get through
this, I’ll have a warm bed to crawl into. Must not think. Check traffic, look
beyond brim of raincoat. Keep bike upright. Listen for too much grit on rims;
let up on brake.
Somehow we make it to the base of the hill in Saanen. My
feet are now frozen. A sign directs the way to the hostel. We need food. I can
barely think. Andy offers to get groceries in Gstaad while I check us into the hostel. I
nod and lift a smile. I turn my back to the shrouded peaks and make my
way up a small hill, dismounting and pushing the heavy bike the last few yards
because I can’t be bothered to shift.
Later, when we have warm food in us, are changed into dry
clothes, we listen to the rain. Tomorrow, we may have to take a train to
Geneva.
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