Day 14

An unusual day. I was up and left before anyone at the campsite was moving and after a hearty helping of my home made super-cereal and coffee I was on my way. It was raining hard, and continued to rain in a impressive a variety of styles, until mid afternoon. Switzerland is closed on a Sunday (it wasn't exactly rocking on Saturday!). I passed through several villages without seeing a soul and began to wonder if some "Day of the Triffids" like apocalypse had occurred while I slept. Or perhaps, like Boxing Day follows Christmas, in Switzerland the Assumption of Mary is followed by another festival - perhaps the Duvet Day of St, Eric the Idle when the devout stay in bed, eat chocolates, and watch reality TV! Whatever he reason there were no people. It is typical, of a chauvinistic Englishman, to think many European practices at best odd (like having public holidays at weekends). However, to demonstrate my Europhile credentials let me state now there is one practice that is infinitely superior to the UK. This is the artisan production in villages of fresh baked products each morning - even Sunday. The first place where my theory that the Swiss had been taken back to their planet of origin overnight (more on this later) was wrong was when the first lit shop that proved to be a bakery. In no time at all I was supplied with a fresh croissont, a packet of ham, and a very large bag of M&Ms.  Outside I prepared a sandwich of croissont and ham, with HP sauce (from my emergency stash) and lightly drizzled with, well, drizzle. With this second breakfast (yet another Lord of the Rings reference) I cycled on.

This was the day that I would have had yesterday if the boat had not rescued me. Cycling under a heavily pregnant sky, through a rolling, England-impersonating, landscape without much interest. This is very rural. When the limo service uses a cow it is definitely rustic!

I was bored so I decided to follow up yesterday's success at serenading the cows with a introduction for them to swearing in English. I think they were not the same cows (probably similar ones) as they would have definitely have had to be limo-cows to get ahead of me. I started to try to use expletives starting with each letter of the alphabet. Where I didn't have one I had to invent one, in the manner of Shakespeare - zounds!  The cows were apparently indifferent to my heavily shouted abuse (probably because the spoke only German). Speaking of which, including today, I have passed through three different language zones in as many days. This has not troubled me since I am equally fluent in Italian, German and French. I can't speak any of them. This is embarrassing. However, my lack of vocabulary in the area of swearing in my native tongue is shameful. I was hopeless. I tried a few mild German curses (learned from the war comic books of my childhood) but they were unmoved. Probably of my poor my German accent, after all I still think the correct pronunciation of the Swiss brand Nestlè rhymes with vessel. This lack of language skill had an amusing consequence later. Passing through a small town I saw this sign. 

On a rainy Sunday, given the choice ......

Also passed this. A whole IKEA dedicated to home brewing kits!

All these musings, the gentle landscape, combined with my now Popeye-like leg strength (sadly still matched to an Olive Oyl-like leg profile) meant that I made great progress. My legs whirling like hairy, pipe-cleaner modelled dervishes. There was only one meaningful climb, just after Olten, of about 300m to 680m. 

Olten is a nice town with an impressive covered bridge (new film reference: the Bridges if Madison County) and a great biker cafe outside, just before the hill gets serious. 300m, ha! I spit in the face of 300m - I have done 2,000! Truthfully, this  would have hurt in the heat, and early fitness, of Croatia but that was then, this is now. I flew up. Picture of the Harley guy especially for Jim and Kevin in Canada.

Short aside. The lady on my TomTom GPS has definitely taken a shine to me. He pronunciation of Strasse, at the end if street names, has become increasingly seductive over the last few days. I have ignored it. Betty is very jealous and flirts outrageously with the kerb if not given continual attention. In revenge the lady tried to mislead me six times in the early afternoon, all of which I spotted, route 2 to Basle being easily distinguished from obscure side roads.

Basel arrived by 2:30 (more correctly I arrived - Basel was stationary) and the day started to clear. It had been both wet and cold so all my layers were damp. Basel is a fairly random city with modern and old mixed together and without a obvious theme. It has a beautiful town hall in the market place where I had lunch. There was a lovely orchestral concert taking place in the town hall which added to the ambiance. 

I felt good, fed, the weather was improving, and I wanted to move on. Before I knew it I was in France. This is the start of a new phase of my adventure. The. Rhine forms the route of a number of European cycle arteries. EuroVelo route 6 and the Rhine Cycle Way in particular. Navigation and logistics should be much easier from here. Within the first hour I met more touring cyclists than in the previous 13 days! 

The Rhine is already enormous here with serious ships using it. 

Once I left the suberbs of Basel I was immediately in rural France. I knew it was France only because I passed a game of Boules with French speaking players. There is no border! 

For a couple of hours I rode on a canal tow path, with plenty of water, many places to camp, and A desire for a proper bed for the night. Used the time to sequentially wear, and dry, my wet things. 

After a few troubles (and some good guesses and gambles) I found an ideal small hotel with great internet (watched the second half of the Man City-Chelsea game in the the bath! 

A good day. Now to return to the Swiss. My limited experience makes me feel they are a bit quirky. Sort of the Japanese of Europe. It is hard to explain so here are two photos from today as illustrations. The first is from a sanitary ware shop. Who would not want toilet lids colour coded in primary colours! Presumably red is for exclusive use by the men!

Secondly, coming down the hill after Olten I was passed by a group of at least 30 young men, going in the opposite direction, each riding what appeared, and sounded like, lawnmower engine powered cycles and all wearing totally inadequate plastic raincoats. Go figure.

Goodnight.