I’ve left Switzerland. Incapable of summing up anything, let alone my feelings, I offer instead some loose addends. And that’s how I’d like them to remain, really–we’ve still got stuff to put on the tally.

wish you were here

My first ride in Switzerland was on November 20, about a week after getting off the plane. Probably before I managed to register at the Kreisbüro. My new colleague Benedikt floated we make a trio with Hadrien on a cold, foggy loop over Buchenegg. It was a quiet morning, not many people out. With the fog I was completely disoriented, and I didn’t know where I was anyway. I just followed the wheel all day.

I dressed badly and froze in a short sleeve jersey and one of those super lightweight wind layers. Benedikt gave me his “extra” jacket for the descent–what a mensch. The first of many times I relied on the guy.

We took a picture at the top and sent it to the office as a postcard.

(We followed up with the first of many Miros…)

dumb stuff on my friend’s bike

Little-known fact among cyclists: aluminum is softer than steel. Since it’s lighter, though, it can be formed into bigger tubes that deflect less than steel tubes (bike geometry aside), and so some aluminum bikes ride harsh. But not all of them. Benedikt’s backup commuter is an olde Marin hybrid, made of narrow aluminum tubes, and the thing rides a little too soft, scary soft, susceptible to speed wobbles. But it’s a cool, comfy machine, light and fast.

He lent it to me for an early-morning mission. Let’s go up the biggest hill in Zürich (Uetliberg) to catch a little suntan before work.

Benedikt ripped the descent, but I was at my limit well sub-rip.

Then it was back across Zürich to work.

The next time I rode the comfy Marin was for an unusual noncompetitive race called SOLA Duo. Benedikt had a spot that had been deferred for the pandemic, and so in June we took our place on the start line. It’s really a running race, but you have to carry one bicycle between two people to the finish. What that means in practice is you alternate riding (resting on) the bicycle and running. (We had it on good authority that quick legs are better than long ones, so we alternated every five minutes.)

The event starts at midnight in St. Gallen and ends in Zürich, well, when you get there, 80 km or so later. Benedikt prepped the bike with lights and basket, and we filled it with snacks for the night. We practiced a few fast changes behind his apartment building and decided that for my own safety I should probably never try cyclocross. In the race we did our exchanges with the bicycle stopped.

We rode the thing to glory. And what fun. It’s hard to imagine other circumstances that could have brought us to be performing this slightly bizarre ritual–we ran with our helmets on–in a kind of bubbly mood on the side of the highway in the middle of the night.

to and fro

Bicycling is, doubtless, the best way to get around Zürich. As they say, the best bike is the one you’ve got, but the dream commuting machine for a town like this has tires wide enough to ignore the tram tracks, with dynamo lighting and mudguards, not unlike my old commuter bike.

Some stats for ya: I had roughly 4 miles / 7.x km between home and work. Fastest door to door was about 12:30, unladen, hammering on the road bike. Too many hills, intersections, and lights to go much faster. A normal “fast” day was about 14 mins; an easy day, 18; a day I don’t feel like it, 20. Running, I make a small detour but it’s not a big ask to do it in about 30 mins with a little bag for my work clothes. Walking to the bus or tram and riding that instead: rarely less than 40 mins door to door. Slow, but nice in bad weather or when you want to read a little.

Rarer that I took any pictures in the bad weather. Here’s some good weather.

The worst bike accident I had here was right after I arrived. The casualty was nothing less than Thanksgiving.

The only thing I didn’t like about my commute was it wasn’t long enough. I’ve thought about it only a little, but I think the dream is a low-traffic, high-pedaling 45-minute road bike commute. We’ll keep you posted.

big days out with friends

A rip around Lucerne with Max, David, and Oliver. A big “training” day with Timo, Grosse Scheidegg from both sides + some bonus. An autumnal run up into the Schwarzwald (to the Titisee, Döner on the way, a visit to the Rothaus and a Tannenzäpfle on the way back, a real German day) with Benedikt. Crossing the border with Hadrien.

some spontaneous ones

A loop into Schwyz with Hadrien and Benedikt; a killer summer opener with Lars and the gang; an Easter market with Michele; a run up to the biggest disappointment/waterfall in Europe with Benedikt; an after-work rip with Alban; an after-work rip with Klaus; an after-work rip with Artem; trots down to Bubikon and Hombrechtikon with the gang. A runaround with my brother (visiting). The Max gang around town or in the Emmental. My childhood bff and his partner on a snowy one.

leaving the big city behind

When I moved to Switzerland, I had one friend in the area. I was lucky that it was my old boss/postdoc/riding buddy, Timo. One time in May we took the bicycles to Lugano.

let me count the ways, vol. xx

Here’s a question I struggle with. Why do you like riding so much anyway?

The quantity of answers is paralyzing. At the moment, for example, I like seeing the numbers go up. (This is not sustainable, and as a motivation it is scheduled for deprecation.) I like the velocity, the freedom, the outside, the air, the click and whir of the machine, the teamwork, the ease, the infliction of pain (as subject or object), etc. etc.

Probably chief among my reasons is how it activates some kind of fantasy. It’s hard to describe since I haven’t dug so far as its roots. From the shoots, though, I can identify some of its taxonomy.

The setting matters. A two-wheeled fantasy at home, in the USA, differs from one away, for sure, even if riding anywhere has an aspect of making or carrying a home. In Europe my bicycle fantasy runs along a few lines, most ancient among them some combination Speed Racer cartoons—smooth black roads, big craggy mountains, whizz and zoom, tunnels, casinos, tight clothes, glamor, mystery…—and my dad’s stories of touring in Italy, grinding in some era-appropriate gear ratio from hilltop town to hilltop town, wielding a frame pump to deter shepherd dogs, wearing a backpack, sweating in the past’s sunny quiet.

One articulation I owe to a friend (H) who observed to me once that one of the Miyazaki through-lines is a mythologized European setting, which seems to originate in the Heidi stuff before reaching its most unreal in Porco Rosso, like Speed Racer in some ways, takes place in some vaguely historicized Mediterranean interwar period, features blue water, white cliffs, casinos (?), languorous romance miles from anything like consummation.

Maybe it’s not an accident that cartoons come to mind. There’s an aspect of riding the bicycle that does put you at a remove. You watch the world fly by. You imagine how the land works, what the towns are like, the buildings, what the people around are doing. But for the most part you don’t engage—you just zip by. And look.

Lugano and its environs are in this sense fantastic, cartoonish mountains (carrying just a whiff of the California home) rising from the lakes, concealing churches, villages, pizzas and espressos, vineyards, orchards, tire stores. In the fall and spring it’s a sleepy place, the roads are quiet–the Lamborghinis are elsewhere, I suppose–and there’s a kind of mystery to how the whole place is glued together and functions. With the beauty of the trees and the buildings, the lakes and the mountains, and the lack of any obvious purpose to it all, it manages to push all my buttons at once.

Does cycling find in France its homeland? If so, is it because of the Tour? I’m not sure of the answer to either. But it is a great place to ride, and easily accessible from Zürich. By an accident, a training ride I made to follow a Tour stage followed “the Tour Stage” organized as a sportif for the fans.

An old friend and a then-new friend and three of the best and hardest days of riding I’ve ever had: A circuit of the Mont Blanc. We started in Martigny. We had a lot: Climbing, descending, a dog, a life-changing pizza, a thunderstorm, and a few crazy bonks. A great trip–no attempt here to sum up or do it justice.

Spectating the Tour de Suisse… in Liechtenstein. No sign of the prince, but a sign of the king, Küng.

In the vein of the SOLA Duo: A trip to fetch a bicycle, westward going.

I feel like I have words in inverse proportion to pictures. And I didn’t manage to dig up all the ones I wanted. To anyone I was lucky enough to ride with these past few years (some of you are pictured or mentioned here)–thanks for it, it was a pleasure, miss you already, and let’s do it again soon.