MONTREUX, SWITZERLAND
This was a bittersweet day. It would be a day of accomplishment but a little sadness as I knew my trip across Switzerland through the Alps would be ending. Actually, I was not sad at all.
I had a nice breakfast at the Hotel Gruyères. It was a very pleasant morning but going to be hot again.
I sat out on the patio enjoying the cool morning weather. I had no complaints about the weather. No rain the entire trip. And really never needed arm warmers. Perfect weather.
The first few kilometers would be downhill as I left the hotel and then try, for the last time, to find Cycling Route 4. It started OK as I was soon on farm roads.
In Grand Villard I missed a turn at a traffic circle but soon corrected it as I could see my Garmin showed I was “off course.”
The back road took me off the main road for a while. A mostly single lane, very lightly traveled road, I even stopped to watch a fox.
Eventually the roads would converge and I would be on the main highway.
I was tired. Physically, I didn’t feel tired but perhaps skipping dinner last night or just seven days in the Alps was wearing on my decision making.
I came to a construction area and did not see a turn. Garmin soon warned me I was off course. I went back and surveyed the area. Yes, I missed the turn to Route 9. There was no way through but I hoped the main road would be parallel where I should be.
It would not occur to me until the end of my ride that I wasn’t to follow Route 9. All week I have been on Route 4 and now I confused them. I still don’t know where I should have gone.
I was comfortable following Garmin but if there was a real Route 4 I wanted to be on it. But I stayed on the main road.
I came to what I knew would be my climb over my last mountain. Then I saw a sign for Route 9 to the left. Down in a valley. I followed it for 300 meters and just knew it didn’t feel right. At the point I said “screw following the sign” not even aware it was the wrong sign. The mind was tired.
I thought I was on the right road but who knows. But I began the climb confident I would get to Montreux.
The views were great and I had no regrets. I was passed by perhaps 30 sports cars, many of those vintage cars.
At the top was a ski area. I didn’t spend much time here but instead would begin my descent to Aigle.
It was a great ride down. With hairpin turns, I never could really let the bike roll but I wasn’t here for speed. (Things losers say)
I came to one snow shed and plenty of picturesque vantage points. I enjoyed the descent constantly scanning taking in the views.
Reaching the bottom I could see Aigle and the figurative end of my journey.
I also knew I was in France. Well, not really but very close. I had thought about riding an extra 10-15 km to “end” in France (and come back) but decided I needed to keep going to my real destination in Montreux. I had a train to catch.
Beautiful vineyards on the hillside dotted the landscape. Aigle is the home of the UCI, Union of International Cyclists or Union Cycliste Internationale in French.
As I reached the flat section of the town I saw a sign for Route 4. Then it dawned on me I had been looking for the wrong signs. I felt fresh but I must have been tired to confuse the route signs.
I saw the cars that had passed me coming off a mountain road. Route 4. The one I was supposed to be on. Oh well. I have no regrets about the route I took but wonder what I missed. And if I should go back someday.
I said goodbye to Route 4 and was going to head to Montreux. But I saw a sign for UCI and decided to see what it was all about. Well, it was about a building. A velodrome. I did not leave a pee sample. (But it would have been clean.)
Since there was no longer a bike route, (it starts/ends in Aigle) I had mapped my route to Montreux. But I briefly lost my way. I started to get on Super Highway A9. Oops. I walked the bike back down the entrance ramp when I saw I could not jump the fence with my bike to an alternate road.
In Montreux I had planned to eat. Maybe to celebrate. Never really thought about dipping a wheel into Lake Geneva or lifting my bike but never had a chance. I followed a street into town, I knew I was getting near the train station and the street went under the tracks. When I emerged I was in a shopping area and saw an escalator up to the train station. I grabbed my bike, went up to ticketing, and just like that, it was over.
Actually, it wasn’t over just like that. As I arrived ticketing I asked for my luggage and the woman didn’t know what I was talking about. But rather than create angst, I turned and there was a young man with my bag. I beat him. I pulled out money to tip him but he refused.
Seven Days. Switzerland. Over.
