In rained again through the night and took us a long time to dry everything enough to pack away.
But soon enough we were back riding again, and this time downhill, which was fun. We even passed a few tractors this time.
After cycling through Blighny-Sur Ouche we went up to Chazilly, followed by Creancy. Turning left from Creancy we ended up in Pouilly en Auxois, a beautifully scenic town filled with less beautifully scenic tourists.
We stopped at the local patisserie, something we've been making a habit of doing lately, and bought two delicious cakes, both even more deliciously wrapped.
Lunch was a simple affair, fresh hot roast chicken with a crunchy baguette and some nectarines, followed by our purchase from the patisserie. Wow, if only we could buy these elsewhere we thought as we bit into our deserts, smooth and creamy, perfectly scrumptious, I can almost taste the flavors, the perfect consistency as I'm envisioning them...
We kept riding, and it kept raining, so we stopped about 6km from St Thibault, and camped under a bridge next to a canal full of sea monsters that couldn't stop splashing about.
It was another cold and rainy day... but we were getting used to it. And again the gusts of wind were hammering our faces, but we weren't getting used to that.
We gazed in wonder at the small towns we rode through - Chaussin, Chemin, Seurre... They were all so beautiful! Is the whole country full of small, picturesque villages?
In the evening we rode through the beautiful city of Beaune, the gorgeous wine capital of Burgundy, near the hills of the Cote d'Or... Bigger than the towns we'd passed through during the day but still the extensive archaic centre was maticulously preserved. We tried to take it all in as we rode to the other side of the city...
Outside of town and we're riding up a hill on the designated scenic route - our biggest for days. A tractor is puffing along the road, holding up the traffic behind. And suddenly a truck driver, heading the other way, swerves onto the other side of the rode whist pulling down his pants with his left hand, flipping the bird with his right and screaming profanities, and then narrowly missing Sam. Careening down the hill, and narrowly missing me on his second failed attempt to overtake on our side of the road, I was treated to the swearing only.
We reached the top at 620m elevation and wearily started to coast down the other side. We stopped at a roadside rest area outside of Bligny-sur Ouche to cook our dinner, and decided to stop for the night.
It rained through the night and until 10am in the morning, so it took us a while to dry everything and get going. Hmmm, I see a pattern emerging...
Back on the wet and windy road, I admit it is better than 40 plus degrees, we cycle through some beautiful towns, in fact they all look so picturesque that Shanna keeps wondering that they must have all been a feature of the Tour de France.
First Levier, then Villeneuve d'Amont, next was Cernans when following this we toured Salins Les-Bains, a place you should definitely see before you die, after which we routed Mouchard (its food stores at least), followed by Villers-Farlay where we tasted some exquisite fromage de chevre.
It was raining at this point, we had lunch, bought from the Super Marche and cooked in our pot, curry with rice along with a still warm fresh and crusty bread stick. Next was Ounans, followed by Mont Vaudrey. Stomachs feeling sad and sorry we ran off into the woods, where we saw a deer, who looked at us, cautiously, and then suddenly ran off, startled cries ringing through the trees to alert his brothers of the crazy Aussies soiling the forest.
The deer spurred us onwards to Le Deschaux, where we found a fantastic camp spot by a river. In desperate need of a wash it wasn't long before we were frollicking naked in the cold water... Ah, I meant bathing discreetly in our cycling clothes to wash the sweat... no mosquitoes all evening (priceless!!), we fell asleep quickly in the tent and didn't wake up for almost 11 hours.
After riding hard through the wind for what felt like weeks, although it was only two days, plus the accumulating effects of the week hiking mountains in Switzerland, our legs were tired and so were we. It was time to take it easy.
We didn't ride far, and much of the afternoon was spent using the free wifi at McDonalds... All part of our cycling experience - taking whatever opportunity we can to access free internet and update this website (as well as research our route and how to get into Paris!)
In the evening we went a short distance and camped in a huge empty field outside the hamlet of Chaffois.
At night the sound of cow bells woke me, and I fell back asleep dreaming of Sam cutting off a goat's head to stop the bell ringing, and a farmer calling for his goat that would never return home...
Sometime in the afternoon we left Suisse and cycled into France. I haven't seen it yet but I get the impression, the feeling that Melbourne or Sydney could, quite possibly after a prolonged period of involution in the European chrysalis, come to resemble Paris or Rome, but I'm guessing it would take a long time. Longer than I've got anyway.
It's odd, being in France, having thought on, and about the place for so long, to be finally here, cycling up a mountain, observing the arbitrary splendor, the archaic beauty, and yet being observed by everyone, white blonde hair, scruffy beard. A detached observer who remains affianced as a human participant.
Trying to fathom what it is about France that continues to capture global hearts and minds, the country of course being the most visited realm in the world with over 80 million visitors per year, I can understand now that I/we are here. For many it must be Paris, the Louvre, the Eiffel tower, the Arc de Triomphe, for others the countryside, the castles, the architecture and history, yet still others the roads, the Tour de France, or the food, the cuisine, and then there might be those with romantic ideals of romance and old world chivalry, hopeful for love.
But for me, it's the sages, the God's of the literary world that for so many years have formed portraits in my mind that obtuse mortals like me can only dream of ever replicating.
Riding along, Shanna just behind me, these thoughts proliferate in my mind, as for a game, not out of boredom but rather to help ignore the pain in my legs and forget the ache in my stomach I try to remember some of them, but there are so many, and I'm soon confused amidst a world of names, philosophies, centuries and ideologies.
Roland Barthes, Emile Zola, Claude Levi-Strauss, Stendhal, Truffault, Sartre, Derrida, Camus, Balzac, Baudelaire, Maupassant, George Sand, Rousseau, Voltaire, Diderot, Delacroix, Hugo, Godard, Dumas, Gautier, Flaubert, the Goncourt brothers, Daudet, Mallarme. Verlaine, Rimbaud, Gide, Proust, Fournier, Foucault and Rivette.
Maybe you've heard of a few of these, if not I'll happily keep them to myself.
Oh and France was cold, really cold, but the food was deliciously cheap- this combination of words probably makes more sense to a touring cyclist...
When we found a Super Mache, just over the border we couldn't believe our eyes, we were expecting high prices, but I think, after studying the isles for an hour or so, and buying so much food, cakes, creme aux oeufs, riz au lait, fresh bread, chorizo, fruit, juice and yoghurt that I can probably say food is even cheaper here than what it is in Australia. If was Suisse maybe I'd do cross the border with a van every month or so...
Excitedly that night we had our first meal in a French restaurant. A contrasting affair of both great and bad. It wasn't what we expected, but maybe the beauty of traveling is that nothing ever is.
We woke up in the morning and despite the sky still looking ominous the rain had stopped. Unfortunately though the wind was still blowing, and it was cold.
It was hard getting going again, packing up our gear and the tent whilst knowing we'd be riding into a head wind, I tried not to think about it.
Additionally, the bike was still making a worrying grinding noise. If only I could figure out what it is...
Pushing at the pedals as hard as I can, but only going about 10 kilometers per hour. The rain starts, then stops, then hammers down and we get soaked, so soaked that we try putting the tarp up between some trees, even with our rain jackets on we feel wet to the bone... can't believe how cold it is!!!
Maybe we've just gone soft from being in hot climates for so long?!? At one point we have to stop for an hour, the wind is so strong we can't actually ride forwards.
Approaching the outskirts of Lausanne we see a beautiful lake, framed by the mountains which surround it; Switzerland really is a beautiful country, and despite our present struggles on the bikes we wouldn't change coming here for a second. I guess that from the large amount of other cyclists on the roads braving the rain and wind we're not alone with that opinion
Riding around the lake we see a shower, it looks freezing but we drop our bikes and hurriedly strip off behind some bushes. Wowwweee, it is cold, but hey, its definitely worth it to feel clean again.
Leaving Sion to continue cycling across Europe was a bittersweet affair. Whilst Francois and Severine had left the day before to do some high altitude training for a University study, we had gone to the local bicycle shop (thanks heaps to Severine’s mum who drove us there) to pick up our bikes.
Looking at our bicycles, newly serviced and gleaming I was amazed by just how clean they looked. In fact, they looked as though someone had gone over them with a fine toothcomb and a can of polish. Great we thought! Then we looked down at the price of our bikes being serviced, and the two new chains which were fitted to them and were unable to believe our eyes, almost $600 Australian dollars. I racked my brains wondering what the exorbitant cost was for, and tried desperately to read the receipt, much to the annoyance of the French speaking Suisse standing behind the counter. It seems, I learned later, that you do not question the price here, and simply accept with meekness so as not to risk the chance of looking as though any amount, no matter the high cost, means nothing to you or your bank account.
Interestingly when we had first taken the bikes in for a service we were told that the front wheel would need replacing. Francois replied that that was the wheel they had built for him only six months ago, and asked what was wrong with it as there were no obvious signs of a problem. Suddenly there seemed to be no more problems with the wheel. Hmmn.
Anyway, much to the annoyance of the guys in the shop (and the embarrassment of my entourage) I looked down at my bike and spun the front wheel. It rotated around once, and then with a sudden jolt it stopped.
I moved onto the back wheel (a brand new one that they had just built) and did the same. It didn’t stop immediately, but swerved noticeably at one arbitrary point, indicating even to the newbie cyclist that this wheel had a buckle. I showed it to them, much to their reluctance, and was told it was the tyre. Wow, I’ve never heard of that one before I thought to myself.
An hour later, Shanna and Severines mother had left in the car with her bike, the front wheel of my bike adjusted and swinging freely, a $600 dent in my pocket for I’m still not sure what and I was back on my bike and cycling up the mountain through the rain (seven hundred meters climb in altitude- or going up the Mt Dandenong I-20 climb the equivalent of three times). Soon though, I wondered what the new noise was, a constant grating sound apparent with each revolution of the pedals, and began wondering if all that had been done to the bikes was a trip through a car washer (in my imagination I was picturing something like a giant dishwasher with a bike in it).
The following morning we left the Lamon’s beautiful home overlooking the Swiss alps in the mountains of Sion (altitude almost 1300 meters), heading for France. We were sad to leave, remembering fondly our week there, and how much we’d done during this short time with Sev and Francois, in their stunning little corner of the world.
Thanks to a bum steer from me we started heading in the wrong direction and thinking how wonderful the tail wind was. Realising we were going the wrong way we turned around, me with a backpack on my back with mountaineering gear in it ready to send home, and began heading the right way, into the wind towards the beautiful lakeside city of Lausanne.
$115 later and the backpack is off my back and heading to Australia, wow it feels great, not only to get rid off the big pack but also to be riding again. If only the wind wasn’t intent on blowing us back to Sion it would have been perfect!
Through the strongest head wind imaginable we pushed our pedals. Progress was slow, much energy was spent, and then the rain started to fall. It was about 5pm, and we’d just stocked up on food at a supermarket, when we saw an abandoned structure, which would offer protection from the rain. We wheeled our bikes under the big concrete pillars and ceiling, and investigated a big warehouse - it was also abandoned. We cooked our pasta in the warehouse, admiring the graffiti, but as it grew dark decided we’d been happier camping outside with the cold wind.
Distance: 15km of walking, 1500m gained
Today Francois boasted that we'd reach our highest altitude ever on a peak in the Swiss alps. We hoped he was right.
We set off early in the morning for a notorious area in the Swiss mountains that straddle Italy's border known as the Pennine Alps. An hours driving and a couple of stops for fuel later and we were at the Grande Dixence Dam, the highest gravity dam in the world with a wall 285 meters high. Apparently it produces so much hydroelectric power that the Suisse direct much of it to its neighbors in France and Italy.
By the time we'd hiked from the carpark to the height of the dam, 2,365 meters in altitude, I was already sweating profusely. Looking above I noticed the chair lift that was packed with people taking almost everyone else up to the dam, on the way down it would look even more tempting I imagined.
Over the next five hours we hiked through tunnels, across streams, up and along steep yet undulating rocky ridges of screed and falling rock, traversed across several small snow fields, abseiled down a short rock face at 3310 meters and finally we arrived at the glacier that we'd brought harnesses, ropes and crampons for.
It was hot and sunny (even at this high elevation) and we could all hear the trickling noise of the glacier melting under our feet. Concurrently we could also see where the snow changed color, covering a series of holes and gaps that could have fallen through into deep crevasses. I wondered to myself if there was any real way of knowing, and realised how people can so quickly and easily fall to their deaths in places like this.
Harnesses on and ropes attached we crossed the glacier, and after climbing up the steep snow face adjacent we had finally made it to the hut. Soaked in sweat I threw my pack on the ground and looked around, wow, what an amazing view. To one side we could see Mont Blanc, the highest peak in Western Europe, and the massif that surrounds it. To the other side I could see the Matterhorn, probably the most famous mountain in Europe with its spectacular steep four sided pyramid like shape, and its little brother, the White Tooth next to it.
Everyone was starving so we got out our camp stove and cooked some pasta while eating Swiss chocolate, bread with cheese and drinking yoghurt. Then we realised that we had no water. Luckily we found some huge old assorted pots laying about and hiking back down to the snow line we collected some snow to melt down and drink. Thirst quenched and the others set about finding a comfortable spot on the rocks for an afternoon nap.
For a moment I considered doing this, but then my excited curiosity got the better of me and I headed up over some other some peaks, a couple of small snowfields and across a ridge of shale and rock to another higher peak. Climbing amongst the rocks and a small slip, luckily a secure section of rock to hold onto, heart beating a thousand times per minute, wondering if I can make it up, didn't think I could, too wet, steep, slippery, go back now I thought to myself. A minute later and I was at the top. Wow, success, I made it.
This is fun I thought as I screamed out at the top of my lungs, no-one but a bird circling overhead to hear my cries, muffled by wind and space.
We were all a little tired and needed a quieter day, so we headed down the mountain to Sion where we put our bikes in for a service, checked out the markets, visited an old castle on the hill and looked down over the beautiful city. The sun was scorching - temperatures were still in the high 30s, which apparently only happens for two weeks of the year in Switzerland.
But it wasn't all site-seeing, Francois still had something special planned for the afternoon. The way it had been described I thought we were going rock climbing. We each had a harness and I knew we were going up a rock face. But it was better than rock climbing. Into the rock face metal ladder-like rungs had been secured with a thick wire rope running alongside, which we clipped our harnesses to. And we climbed up. Sometimes we had to walk across a wire rope bridge, other times the rock face we were climbing protruded, overhanging over the one below, which made it more difficult, and often it was hard to reach the next rung. But Sam and I both loved it!
At the top it was short walk to a swimming pool where we happily cooled down and looked over the mountains around us...
Distance: About 13km of walking, 1100m of elevation gained... and lost!
It was nice to sleep in, not have to worry about moving on... And when we arose the table outside the main home was laid ready for breakfast - yoghurt, cereal, fresh bread, jams and hot chocolate... We ate until we were full, preparing our bodies for hiking in the mountains.
We bought some picnic supplies - more bread, cheese, meat and chocolate - and drove up higher into the mountains.
The walk was sometimes difficult, particularly since we still hadn't had a rest day for six days, but the beauty around us made it worth it! We even hiked through steep sections of snow in some places, which is a strange sensation when the sun is beating down on you and you're sweating hard.
The view at the top was amazing. We were at an elevation of 2810m, our second highest after our climb of Mt Agung, Bali.
The walk down was more difficult, our legs now tired and aching from the exertion of weeks of difficult riding. I remembered the pain in the days after Mt Agung and hoped this time wouldn't be as bad...
Sam and Shanna Evans are from Melbourne, Australia