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Authors: John Higham
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England, if I asked him to help pedal up a hill, I couldnât tell that he was helping at all. He is now a very good stoker. He is starting to thrive in this environment .
The Rhone River was our constant companion over the next few days, sometimes on our left, and sometimes on our right. We were riding upstream but it was impossible to discern a change in elevation. We had the wind to our backs; I noted that the trees were bent over with resolve against the prevailing wind. The valley we were going through was at times broad and other times so narrow that I thought someone with a good arm could throw a baseball from one side to the other.
Perhaps it was because the conditions were so favorable, or perhaps because we were finally starting to click together as a team, but for the first time, Istanbul wasnât looking so far away.
⢠⢠â¢
âWhy donât we cycle to Zermatt?â Katrina asked.
We had arrived in Visp and were preparing to hop on a train. âBig hill,â I replied. âWeâll ride down, though. Itâs supposed to be one of the best downhills there is.â I had been waiting a long time to ride the road from Zermatt to Visp. It is one of the bicycling worldâs âmust-doâ routes and Zermatt itself is world renowned for scenery and outdoor activities. Yet, if we had known what was waiting for us there we would have skipped the side trip and just kept on going.
Precisely at 24 minutes past the hour the train to Zermatt comes to the end of the line. Its cog-wheel design enables it to get up the steep incline from Visp. Once at the final station the two groups who frequent Zermatt pour out of the trainâthe privileged and the tight-pursed thrill seekers.
The privileged come for the afternoon or maybe a day or two to browse the trendy shops, but never really stray too far beyond the townâs main square. Walking through Zermatt, you would be forgiven for wondering who goes on holiday to shop for expensive timepieces, as there is a Rolex dealer every other door along the main street. Towering above that main street at the end of this high alpine valley is the full-sized Matterhorn, looking as though Walt had the whole place purpose-built. I was ready to queue up and get my E-ticket for the Bobsled.
We pulled our tandems off the train and went straight to the local Co-Op. Katrina and I watched the bikes as September and Jordan procured lunch. Moments later they emerged from the store with our standard lunch fare of ham, cheese, and a baguette. âShoot me now,â was all I could say.
âIf you can think of something else that we can afford, packs easily, doesnât require cooking, and the kids will eat, Iâm all ears,â September countered. She was as weary as I was of the standard lunch fare, but I did enough complaining for the both of us. The lack of variety didnât seem to affect Katrina, and blandness suited Jordan.
After eating lunch in a park, we rode our bikes a few blocks to the local campground and settled in for a couple of days with the rest of the tight-pursed thrill seekers.
Our campground in Zermatt was different from the ones we had gotten used to in previous weeks, where more often than not we were the only people in tents. Other campers throughout Europe were in RVs or campervans and had settled in for a week, a month, or even the entire summer.
In Zermattâs campground, all were in tents. Since itâs not possible to drive to Zermatt, we saw exactly zero RVs or campervans. All private traffic is stopped in Täsch, about three miles short of Zermatt. Only Zermatt residents can continue on, and then only as far as the garage where they are compelled to park their cars. In the Zermatt campground I found an unsecure wireless network, courtesy of the adjacent hotel. Bliss.
As we set up our tent we talked to a climber who had scaled the Matterhorn the previous day. I thought he was nuts. Of course he
The Rhone River was our constant companion over the next few days, sometimes on our left, and sometimes on our right. We were riding upstream but it was impossible to discern a change in elevation. We had the wind to our backs; I noted that the trees were bent over with resolve against the prevailing wind. The valley we were going through was at times broad and other times so narrow that I thought someone with a good arm could throw a baseball from one side to the other.
Perhaps it was because the conditions were so favorable, or perhaps because we were finally starting to click together as a team, but for the first time, Istanbul wasnât looking so far away.
⢠⢠â¢
âWhy donât we cycle to Zermatt?â Katrina asked.
We had arrived in Visp and were preparing to hop on a train. âBig hill,â I replied. âWeâll ride down, though. Itâs supposed to be one of the best downhills there is.â I had been waiting a long time to ride the road from Zermatt to Visp. It is one of the bicycling worldâs âmust-doâ routes and Zermatt itself is world renowned for scenery and outdoor activities. Yet, if we had known what was waiting for us there we would have skipped the side trip and just kept on going.
Precisely at 24 minutes past the hour the train to Zermatt comes to the end of the line. Its cog-wheel design enables it to get up the steep incline from Visp. Once at the final station the two groups who frequent Zermatt pour out of the trainâthe privileged and the tight-pursed thrill seekers.
The privileged come for the afternoon or maybe a day or two to browse the trendy shops, but never really stray too far beyond the townâs main square. Walking through Zermatt, you would be forgiven for wondering who goes on holiday to shop for expensive timepieces, as there is a Rolex dealer every other door along the main street. Towering above that main street at the end of this high alpine valley is the full-sized Matterhorn, looking as though Walt had the whole place purpose-built. I was ready to queue up and get my E-ticket for the Bobsled.
We pulled our tandems off the train and went straight to the local Co-Op. Katrina and I watched the bikes as September and Jordan procured lunch. Moments later they emerged from the store with our standard lunch fare of ham, cheese, and a baguette. âShoot me now,â was all I could say.
âIf you can think of something else that we can afford, packs easily, doesnât require cooking, and the kids will eat, Iâm all ears,â September countered. She was as weary as I was of the standard lunch fare, but I did enough complaining for the both of us. The lack of variety didnât seem to affect Katrina, and blandness suited Jordan.
After eating lunch in a park, we rode our bikes a few blocks to the local campground and settled in for a couple of days with the rest of the tight-pursed thrill seekers.
Our campground in Zermatt was different from the ones we had gotten used to in previous weeks, where more often than not we were the only people in tents. Other campers throughout Europe were in RVs or campervans and had settled in for a week, a month, or even the entire summer.
In Zermattâs campground, all were in tents. Since itâs not possible to drive to Zermatt, we saw exactly zero RVs or campervans. All private traffic is stopped in Täsch, about three miles short of Zermatt. Only Zermatt residents can continue on, and then only as far as the garage where they are compelled to park their cars. In the Zermatt campground I found an unsecure wireless network, courtesy of the adjacent hotel. Bliss.
As we set up our tent we talked to a climber who had scaled the Matterhorn the previous day. I thought he was nuts. Of course he
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