Cycling the Alps! 5 mountian passes, 4 countries, 3 bikes, 2 mainland European Germanic guys... 1 Englishman ... and 600km!
Ready to roll...
Although it was time to move on, the Big One within striking distance, our Dutchman had a problem at the start of day 5. Geert's health had been slowly deteriorating since a couple of days prior, and now his high temperature appeared to be getting out of control. The night's rest had seen the usual fitness freak lethargic and worried. The next problem was with finding medical attention ASAP, which seemed impossible without some hefty cycling; the next on duty doctor was 20km away. Geert not being fit to walk for 20minutes, let alone cycling with full luggage for 20 hilly kilometres, we were extremely fortunate to have some kind Swiss camping camping neighbours, who saw our plight and quickly offered a lift.
Trošt and I slowly packed, eating the rest of the biscuits and chilling out in the sun along the way, before following on our bikes. A leisurely 12.427miles or thereabouts (still amongst millions of apples) made sure we wouldn't have a full rest day (for the entire trip in fact), and we met a weary looking curly haired, German revolutionary socialist loving Frisian at the appropriately named Cafe Marx (actually Geert isn't Frisian but for literary purposes I can't resist describing him in various possible ways - anyway that reminds of a Dutch saying I learned: Het com frisian het com doven - or something like that - saying 'It can freeze, it can thaw' but the word for freeze being replaced with 'frisian'- implying the north-Netherlands community's unfriendliness).
Geert Luteijn, presickness, enjoying dinner from the frisbee
Anyhow... he had some mulling over to do in the wake of a bleak diagnosis/prognosis: bacterial infection/2 days rest minimum, and a prescription for antibiotics. Ever the optimist, I jumped straight into a logical argument for us continuing, that we head to our base camp a further few kilometres down the road, in waiting of his condition after two days. Calm and uncomplicated deliberating over coffee completed (we were a pretty well functioning team), the conclusion involved Geert waiting and recovering in Prad (base camp village) while grandma Torsti (among the numerous nicknames for the boundlessly quirky Torsten Klafft) rode the Big One as a one day round trip without luggage.
The evening was uneventful but for a beautiful blonde receptionist (it was a lonely road at times) who caught our imaginations, and a terrible band (like karaoke) at a kitschier-than-kitsch mock 'beach party', complete with Bavarian beer swillers, but not much else. We retired, satisfied at the liquid refreshment and indeed from berating that lame party.
The Big One (not visible because it was shrouded in ominously grey clouds) LOOMED LARGE .... :-S
Prad am Stilfser Joch - Base Camp
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Photos by William Dunn and Geert Luteijn
All rights reserved, William Dunn 2011
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