A very tiring but very cool day so far. I have been passing through the best landscape of the trip so far, though at the expense of my body and my sweat. I’m currently in Switzerland (I simply can’t avoid the place) drinking a coke right now. I have a view of a snow-capped mountain and snapchat tells me I’m above 2200 m. That’s quite a lot of climbing. Much of it has been done on my feet, wheeling my bike, but an equal amount was on wheels.
The day got off to a bad start when beeline insisted on taking me along paths that didn’t quite exist, up into the hills away from the road. I had to wheel my bike over a footbridge just wide enough to admit it, then down and up rocky paths I would have found it hard to hike at the best of times. For the next hour I ignored its beeping and navigated my own way.
At last I found myself climbing a steep but tarmacked path up into the hills. I stopped to eat a pretzel and cool off, as my body was soaked with sweat, then continued on up, cycling and wheeling in equal measure. When I reached the top I was at the beautiful blue lake and campsite I had almost made it to the other day. It looked like a nice place to camp but I definitely wouldn’t have made it in the shape I was in yesterday. Luckily today I had lots of snacks.
I zoomed down the other side as civilisation drifted away and the mountains grew more magnificent, listening to “the Man Who Would be King” soundtrack and in high spirits. Just before I started to climb again I stopped on a shady bench and ate some bread and cheese. As I cleaned my knife I sliced my finger deep and had to scramble to put a plaster on it. Hopefully the wound isn’t full of blue cheese.
After that came the start of another climb. That was hours ago. The climb hasn’t ended yet. I’ve felt the air get thinner. I’ve passed hikers, bikers and donkeys. I can now see snow not so far away. It’s 4:30 and I’ve barely covered 40km. Deffo a slow day. Maybe going down will be faster, if I ever do. I’m supposed to be meeting a Warm showers host in Bolzano on the 18th (tomorrow). That now seems unlikely. I’ll suggest the day after to him. I reckon I can manage that.
Also earlier I collected some spring water from a stream just in case. This café has verifiably safe water, but I kind of want to risk it all the same.
***
Things took a turn after that last entry. I left the pub and continued round the corner where the path just stopped… I realised with dismay that once again beeline wanted to take me over a small, rickety bridge, up a barely existent, stone and step lined path, over a mountain. Shit. But I’d climbed all that way. I couldn’t just go back. I bit the bullet and stumbled painfully up the hill, lifting my bike when necessary, falling over, scraping my heels and shins. It was okay. It was only a mountain. After about ten mins of this I met a man coming down. He was a guy who maintains this path. He told me I was on a mountain bike track, that it would take me at least an hour to get to the top, and an hour and a half down the other side, and I wouldn’t be able to cycle it because my bike was too shit. He advised me not to camp up there because of the cold. I would have camped happily but the thought of almost three hours of what the last ten mins had been made me nauseous.
After some consideration I took his advice, turned around and freewheeled back down the hill. At least that part was fun and fast. And even knowing how it would turn out, I would not have missed the views. They were worth all of it. I found a campsite 30km away and decided to just main road it. It was almost all downhill and I made it in an hour. I’m now looking forward to the consequent uphill tomorrow.
At one point in my journey I stopped to take a piss. There was a concealing farmhouse or garage and I dropped my bike and made my way behind it, careful to avoid the ditch and the electric fence which made up the back yard. A guy called from behind me. Startled I turned, put my foot in the ditch, sunk to my knee in foul mud and excrement, and grabbed hold of the electric fence to save myself. ZAP. Ouch.
His manner changed from confrontational to pitying as I tried to explain in English what I was up to. He waved me on. I pissed. When I came back around he let me use his hose to clean my leg and foot. I explained where I was coming from and where I was going. He laughed and shook his head. Despite the dirt and the humiliation I enjoyed the encounter.
I cycled on, one foot sodden, speeding as fast as the cars down long tunnels, over bridges, and under a high castle. It was so nice to go fast and smooth. So nice. I reached the very urban campsite around 7. The owner noticed me and led me to the “last free patch of grass” he had. It was quite cramped, but I’ve seen worse. I took off my shoes, pitched my tent, then went to check in. He gave me an “unofficial” price of 15 euros, and didn’t take any paperwork, like the Austrians usually do. Sus, but I don’t mind.
I took a much needed shower, cleaned my shoes, then ventured out to buy and consume a beer and a pizza by the side of a busy road. That’s where I am now, killing my lungs with the fumes. Ah well, at least it's hot!
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