Swiss roll - day 4

Andermatt to Furka Pass and back

Given the previous day’s disruption in the form of a family friendly avalanche, and with the impending hostile weather, we found ourselves with the luxury of choice with respect to the route that we could cycle today.  On the basis that the Pipster, Rob and I had demonstrated an inability to navigate the nearest roundabout, our opinion on route selection was not solicited and the decision-making fell to Lord T, in consultation with Sarah and Caroline.

The weather radar was once more suggesting heavy showers from midday, so a plan was devised that would see us heading up the Furka Pass from the Andermatt side (or right at the roundabout as I’d suggested yesterday).  If actual weather conditions were to prove contrary to the forecast, an extension to the day’s riding would see us cycle up the Grimsel Pass from Gletsche, where the road laces up the side of the mountain with long sweeping switchbacks, before retracing our steps.  The weather conspired against us; it was a Furka of a day.

We set off in the ‘dry’ window.  Our wet weather jackets went on early and proved to be useful during the spots of rain we faced on the way up.  At a roundabout, sign posted to Gottard Pass in one direction and the Furka Pass in the other, a marshal, bright in fluorescent yellow, stood at the base controlling the traffic.  A line of cars formed before us that we slid alongside to the front.  As we approached, it became clear what he was doing – allowing the occasional cyclist descending from the Gottard Pass to have the right of way as they turned towards Furka.

It transpired that we had stumbled upon the SWISSMAN (www.suixtri.com) point-to-point race, an ultra-triathlon that begins with a 3.8 km swim in the Isle of Brissago at Ascona.  It’s an alpine lake, fed by snowmelt, which suggests to me that it’d be a tad chilly.  If I were fit enough to be competing, I suspect that after 3.8 kms I’d be looking for a silver foil blanket, a cup of cocoa and a blazing fire to curl in front of once I was done.  The last thing I’d have contemplated after such a feat would be a 180 km cycle ride through the Swiss Alps that included 3,399 metres of climbing as the event passes through the Gotthard, Furka and Grimsell passes.

As we joined the Furkapassstrasse, the road that leads to the top, we inadvertently joined the event.  The foothills are moderately flat, and we formed an echelon at a reasonably brisk pace, though not quick enough, it would seem, for Kristián, who breezed past us.  Each rider in the event wears an event number on their back which usefully included their name.  I was able to wish each competitor well by name as they passed me in their pursuit of triathlon glory.  Rob, however, was not so collegiate.  Rather than wish Kristián well, he decided to beat him to the top.  It signalled the end of our echelon at the start of the mountain proper – away he went.

My cheery ‘Keep going’s’ were delivered to Matthias, Martin, Sergey, Tobias, Renato, Chantal, Christian and a host of others, all quicker than me and all disappearing up the hill into the distance.  At one point, Chantal passed me again.  It provided me with a little fillip to think that at some point she had stopped for a break on the mountain and I had passed her, leading me to believe that I wasn’t being completely bested by everyone on the ascent.  It wasn’t until I reviewed the results later that I discovered there were two Chantals competing, one that finished 40 minutes in front of the other.  My perspective is restored.

After the monumental effort of the cycle, the SWISSMAN competitors are then faced with a full marathon.  Forty-two kilometres over flat terrain is more than enough for most runners, but the mighty athletes in the Swiss Alps that day had to complete their run over a course that included a rise of 1,594 metres to Kleine Scheidegg with a precipitous final 1,000 metres over eight kilometres.  In a quirk of the event, their support person (each competitor must have one, and only one) must accompany them on foot for this final section to cross the finish line together.  If you want to have a decent time scuppered, I’m your man.  I calculated that if I was competing, I could complete the event in about 26 hours.  The men’s event winner, Mathias Nüesch, finished the event in 11 hours and 15 minutes, with Flora Colledge clocking 12 hours and 34 minutes to take the women’s title.  I later read that because of the poor weather conditions on the day, they shortened the swimming leg from 3.8 kms to just 1 kilometre.  On reflection, I might have been a contender.

Idle speculation aside, when we reached the top of the pass at 2,436 metres, the rain poured and we determined that would be the turning point for our day.  At some point in the preceding three days I had managed to pick up a mild chest infection, so allowing prudence to get the better of me, I climbed, along with the Pipster, into the van.  Lord T and Rob, being hardier souls, descended in what had now become heavy rain and failed to appreciate the sign on the Furka Pass that marked James Bond Strasse, the segment of the road that the eponymous chap drove during the 1964 film, Goldfinger, shredding the tyres of Tilly Masterson as he went.  Happily, the boys’ tyres remained intact and they returned safely to the hotel having negotiated a mountain pass that more closely resembled Oxford Street during the week before Christmas.  Shortly after getting back, the weather cleared, though we were disinclined to resume our pedalling.  The only thing I had in mind was a nap, which I took as the others ventured out for an afternoon stroll to Hospental.

By the early evening, despite the foreshortened day, our appetites were up, and we retired to the town where we settled on the Hotel Restaurant 3 Könige & Post.  When we arrived, we decided it was just a little too cool for al fresco dining, so asked for a table inside, whereupon Lord T immediately started complaining of the heat.  Windows were opened, which necessitated the rearranging of the pot plants that adorned the sills.  The gentle breeze of a slightly ajar window was deemed insufficient to cool his furrowed brow, the Ground Force team was called upon for a re-landscaping of the interior so the windows could be flung wide.  For the moment, Lord T was happy.

We all chose the house speciality for supper; lightly seared steaks served on stones that had been heated to 300˚.  When the food arrived, prime beef cuts sizzling away on the heated slabs, the temperature rose.  It felt as though they used the stones to heat the restaurant; Lord T began complaining of hot flushes once more.

The premise behind the stones is that one immediately removes the steak to a side plate to carve slivers for cooking to preference on the hotplate.  Fortunately for Lord T, his preference was for ‘rare’, as the heat from the slab before him was more than he could bear, and he had it returned to Hades.

At the conclusion of the meal, Lord T decided to exercise his linguistic abilities and call for the bill; the translation for which is ‘die Rechnung’.  The inadequacy of our German was once more demonstrated as Lord T summoned our waitress, resplendent in her Dirndl, and said ‘Darf ich haben die Rektum?’ whereupon the temperature in the room cooled dramatically and the waitress blanched – there are some words in both languages that share the same Latin root.  By reverting to universal sign language, Lord T was able to avoid a diplomatic incident and we quickly evacuated the building before he could do further damage.  At our lodgings we had more drinks and spent the rest of a very fine evening finding inappropriate phrases to fire at Google Translate such as ‘Möchtest du meinen Hintern verprügeln?’