Veyrier > Geneva 9km (tough day) and Geneva

August 03, 2014

Veyrier > Geneva 9km (tough day) and Geneva > Chamonix 93km

[Originally posted Aug 3, 2014]

Currently sitting in the basement of the Gîte le Vagabond hostel in Chamonix, France. This place has been on my destination list ever since the flat Loire River Valley made me realize that our route up to Copenhagen wasn’t going to work. I don’t really like the flats. They are boring. No sense of adventure. They also carry the problems of wind. Wind is the worst. Riding into the wind all day will kill you. I’d much rather climb a nice pass (or even a rather difficult one - I’ve got my eyes set on the Furka Pass and the Stelvio Pass) - although potentially harder and slower than riding into the wind, when you get to the top of a pass there is at least a sense of accomplishment - and then you get to roll down the other side. (In more technical terms - and since I was a high school physics teacher - the difference between riding into the wind and up a mountain is how you use your energy. When riding into the wind your opponent is the wind - and so energy is lost due to friction (pushing the air out of your way). When riding up a mountain your opponent is also wind but mostly gravity - and so the energy expended against gravity is conserved (ie - you get to roll down the mountain once you have arrived at the top)). Basically this translates into the following conversation I have with myself: as I climb a mountain I think - each turn of the pedals is money in the bank, once I arrive at the top I can just cruise on down. As opposed to riding into the wind: man this sucks, I hate the wind, wish I was going up a mountain. And so as Katy and I pedaled across the Loire I realized my heart was elsewhere - in the Alps. And so here we are, Chamonix, the site of the first Winter Olympics, home to Mont Blanc and our gateway to the Alps. I guess the other reason I’ve always wanted to come to Chamonix is because of a great “Chamonix-Mont-Blanc” poster that used to sit above the kitchen sink at my cabin in Alta, UT. I can only imagine my grandpa (who built the cabin) put the poster there and so I like to think that my grandpa has been here (and now so have I). If there was one trait I think I carry that was his - it’s the desire to wanderlust. I like exploratory adventure that delves deep into the unknown. A bike trip without a map or timeline would be ideal - just a “hey let’s see what’s over this pass and down that canyon” would be ideal for me (Katy likes it a little more structured).

And so we made it to Chamonix. It was 93km and 1,150 meters from Geneva, Switzerland where we stayed for 3 nights (our longest stop thus far). We stayed with Ale Rizzo last night, a Sao Paulo-an by birth, but he’s been lots of places. As you walk in his apartment there is a map of the world, with an old bike frame hanging in front of it and pictures of his bike trips pinned to the map over their corresponding countries. When we met him he said “thank you for coming, thank you.” Which I thought was odd - usually the thanks are said in the opposite direction, from guest to host. It wasn’t apparent until later when Ale (pronounced all-ee) told about his travels in Turkey why he thanked us for coming. In Turkey, he told us as we walked home from the Geneva city center at midnight (it was August 1st and Switzerland’s National Holiday - they’ve been a country with unchanged borders since 1291) he recounted the amazing hospitality he received. Each time he entered a village he would be approached by men, women and children offering food, drink and a place to stay. This was 1991, and he hoped the same would be true for our journey in a couple months. As he spoke it was apparent that he had learned his English in England - because he used words such as bloke (dude), lorrie (semi-truck) and rubbish (garbage) regularly. It made me miss England and the good times we had there.

Our extra rest day in Geneva yesterday was fantastic. The highlight was the Rhone river. The Rhone river leaves Lac Léman and travels to the mediterranean. It flows at a brisk pace and is full of beautiful blue clear water (that’s not too cold). Yesterday’s sun and warmth brought all the locals to the banks of the river (which isn’t actually a bank - ladders descend down cement retaining walls to get to the river). And here is the fun part: the river moves too fast to actually swim in and out of the same entrance/exit. So you walk a mile or so up river, jump in, quickly get swept down river (all the while waving to the sunbathers by the wayside) and then make sure to swim to your ladder at the last bend (Ale told us if we missed this bend it might be another 15km until a decent pull out). (James - you would absolutely love it - thought about you when we saw a group take off in small inflatable rafts and begin the 15km ride down the river). It was a great day (and such a nicer river than the Loire).

Today we’ve been on the road for a month. We’ve been to 4 countries (England, Scotland, France and Switzerland), cycled about 2200km (I need to officially add it up), made some great friends and managed to eat more than any human being should and still lose a decent amount of weight.

So now in Chamonix for the next couple days (basically we are staying until the clouds move and we get nice sunshine and a view of the Mont Blanc Massif - which might not be for a day or two. And while the rain falls - Katy and I sit in the basement wondering what cheese we will have. We have been quite the little fromage connoisseurs: we have Camembert, Reblochon, Boursault, Tommes, Brie, Roquefort and Chèvre to choose from. All so good. But the Boursault is straight up dessert and knocks my socks off.