The Alps - Beauty That Takes The Piste

Just before we dive into the warmth of the Mont Blanc tunnel...

Milan clings to my map like a spider centred in a web.  Red strands stretch out in every direction, fastening the city to it's strategic location under the ledge of the Alps.  Map reading this morning is proving tricky: on- and off-ramps curl around and underneath one another in a complex weave.  Pick this one and we'll head towards the spider.  That one, and we'll be disappearing off to Verona.  Or is it the other way around?

My visor is fogging up as I look down to monitor the small GPS screen: zooming in or out to get a bearing; I'm trying also to interpret the overhead Italian road signs, making sure Steve is sticking in my wheel tracks and keeping a wary eye out for the charging cohorts of Milanese commuters.  Oh, and we need petrol.  This kind of riding is not easy - we go around again as I take the wrong off-ramp.

Finally I find and can follow the A4 motorway westwards, feeling more relaxed with every mile.  After an hour, the A4 becomes the more northerly A5 to Aosta.  From the elevated asphalt, I'm looking across charming arable farmland that butts up against the imposing massive of the Alps.  I usually avoid riding on the sterile autopistes, but in this area the minor roads are slippery single lane tracks, or stutter through urban zones busy with traffic.

Alpine flowers

The communities are pressing together as the Valle D'Aosta closes around us.  We continue deeper into the valley, towards Mont Blanc, and the white-capped Alps rise up like guardians of their precious ski pistes.  Soon, barns are replaced by large hotel blocks: giant chalet units stacked on terraced shelves.  The Italian picture postcard town of Courmayeur nestles at the base of the mountain. With the first skyfall of snow this place will come alive in a frenzy of ski holidaying.

This morning the motorway is cold, between 2-5 degrees Celsius, but snow-free even as we ascend to 1,600m.  With a boost of hot chocolate Steve and I plunge into the dimly-lit Mont Blanc tunnel - a 20km-long feat of engineering that gives us respite from the biting wind outside.

We emerge, blinking into the bright sunshine, and descend for an hour to reach Geneva.  Our good fortune with good weather continues and we enjoy a clear view across the Lake Geneva.  We're not stopping though, as I want to pop in and see an old friend in Gex, a town a short distance further north.

Emma's son Josh picks his bike after trying the others for size...

It's good to catch up with Emma, and her two young kids.  Emma and I instantly bridge the span of eight years since I attended her wedding.  Talking with somebody who used to be a construction lawyer and who has lived abroad for many years presents some obvious commonalities.  But chatting over a mug of tea with someone who is still essentially British has a familiarity that Steve and I enjoy hugely.  And the home-baked cup cakes were good too!

When we leave, the afternoon winter light is dimming.  A quick burst to the top of Col de la Faucille warms up our tyres and then, back down at lake level, it's off towards Lausanne, Switzerland.  We're heading to nearby Oron-la-Ville to visit another of my friends, known simply as JB.

JB was a riding buddy on the London to Beijing expedition along the Silk Roads, eighteen months ago.  A more experienced traveller than me, his engineering expertise helped us through some tight fixes.  His enthusiasm and love of adventure made him a great companion with whom to share those early weeks.

Mists over Lake Geneva

By 5pm the lakeside mist has rolled across the region.  Steve and I pick our way through the Swiss hills carefully, hoping to arrive with JB before we loose all the light and temperatures drop below freezing.  The GPS hiccoughs, leading us up a couple of cul-de-sacs, but suddenly I spot JB on the roadside, flagging us down: he's shivering out here waiting to guide us in.  This is typical of the guy - putting himself out to guide us in safely.

Cheese fondue with Arlette

Over the next three days Steve and I are treated royally.  JB and his wife, Arlette press us with fine wine, luxurious food and refreshing beer.  We hike up the local peak to make the most of the clear weather, and this gives us an excuse to try traditional Swiss fondue.  We scoop up the melted cheese with our fresh, crusty bread and quickly replace all those calories we sweated out earlier in the day!

Chatting with JB we recall our tallest tales from the Silk Road route.  Although my journey has since stretched far and wide, those early weeks still seem fresh to me.   This is reassuring: I worry whether I will recall the details of a long trip like this.  So far, the lessons of experience remain vivid.

JB shows us the spectacular views of Switzerland

JB takes us on a short visit to Lausanne.   I'm growing weary of new cities, but touring museums and galleries is not really JB's bag anyway.  We'd all rather be out on the bikes or tackling another hiking peak.  Our tour is quick and enjoyable and I'm charmed by Lausanne's steep cobbled streets, local market stalls and a cathedral with extensive nativity sets already in place.  A beer and pizza allow us to refuel and reflect: Lausanne must be even prettier in the snow.

Hiking down is harder than going up

 For me the big draw of Switzerland remains my friends there; Steve and I both feel spoilt rotten, as my Gran would say, by the generosity of JB and Arlette.  We look forward to returning the hospitality - and we also look forward to returning to Switzerland!

Manners maketh the man...

Leading the way through Thursday's early morning mists, JB sees us safely to the motorway.  We're leaving refreshed and ready for the long ride north.

Little did we expect that we'd end the day being pulled over by the police.   That's another story...



Gallery of photos here: Click to Switzerland Gallery