On entering our first very Dutch looking village, we got directions to the nearest forest. After a short while of cycling in the rain, I heard a clunk followed by the word “shit”. Adi’s pedal had locked and then something important-sounding had snapped.  We laid the bike on the floor like a sick baby, the wheel still spinning feebly, and found that the derailleur had broken off and taken a couple of links from the chain with it. We allowed ourselves five minutes of unbridled despair before things got practical. Adi was the first to collect himself. He unravelled the greasy chain from the metal and put it in a front pannier pocket while I looked into the distance broodingly… half imagining myself to be a supporting character in some kind of 70’s bike-themed American medical drama, but mostly just being tired.

We escorted it to the forest, disappointed that after all our good fortune and very recent boast about not even getting a flat tyre; our fate should turn in the last country. The fact that this country happened to be Holland: the cyclist’s dreamland, did help to ease the wound a little.

The wooden gate leading to our small patch of land had what looked like written warnings on it. We both agreed that since we didn’t understand Dutch, and there were no obvious tent symbols spelling out our offense in obvious red crosses, as far as we were concerned we hadn’t committed one. Being foreign and the social impotence that goes with not understanding a language can sometimes be frustrating, but can often be an advantage.

We left the sick bike to fend for itself until tomorrow and put up the tent before the inside got too wet. Even though there were houses nearby, the lights of which shone through the trees, we were too tired to be picky. It was 3am and our social awareness slipped with each passing hour, giving way to immediate necessity. No longer were we concerned about such things as being too visible, or too close to civilisation. We took opportunities when they came and once inside our tent, quickly forgot about the outside world and all its norms.

We fell asleep to the wind and rain whipping against the tent

***

When there was little noise outside apart from the wind through the leaves, we got up and dressed. As we packed away our things, a family stood at the edge of the forest staring at us –which is the usual reaction and we are quite used to it. Eventually, gratified by the spectacle, they left and so did we.

The way to the nearest town was downhill, so unable to pedal, Adi was rolled down the road by his bike. We asked someone for the nearest bike shop and he happily directed us. It was refreshing to be in a country where the majority of its inhabitants had such a good command of the English language and proudly exercised it.  Whilst I’d love to be able to speak another language and admire it in other Europeans, I was grateful now to be able to communicate easily with anyone in my own language. I’ll leave learning Dutch for another adventure…

When we got to the shop, a friendly young man assessed the damage. We hoped that the Euros we had left would cover it as well as our expenditure over the next few days, as we didn’t know how much money was left in the account. The man seemed to understand our financial predicament and agreed to use the cheapest parts he had and try to salvage our poorly chain.

The bikes were muddy and messy and looked as if they’d been dragged across six different countries in all manner of weather conditions (which of course, they had), so we took them around the back entrance and left them there while we walked around ‘s-Heerenberg in search of breakfast.

A couple of croissants, a hot chocolate and a pint of beer later, we collected our babies.

The operation was successful, the bike had made a full recovery, but Adi’s wallet took an unfortunate blow. Still, we were thankful that we weren’t in the middle of the Alps when it happened, and that nothing too extreme went wrong.

With our bearings and route quickly established via a map they had in the shop, we got on our way.

For once we opted not to cycle by the river, but on the main roads through Arnhem, Utrecht, Rotterdam and finally to the Hook of Holland. This was because Holland is pretty bicycle friendly whichever route you take, with cycle lanes paralleling most roads. We would be near civilisation so we could easily get food when we needed it and find a public phone to call the bank, and it would probably be quicker.

At first it’s quite intimidating being in the middle of a huge expanse of criss- crossing concrete. Merciless cyclists speed across intersecting paths a millimetre away from your face, and you have to get out there and join them. Some lanes are so big, you don’t know if they are for pedestrians, cyclists, or lorries and you generally learn the hard way. Eventually we got the hang of it though, but it was very different from our nice meandering cycle path by the river.

At night, with the help of road signs and verbal directions, we got to Arnhem. We asked a very friendly, but clearly drunk man which road to take for the direction of Utrecht. He gave surprisingly lucid instructions which would also take us through lots of forests where we could camp. Adi then asked for the nearest coffee shop. It was a place called Omigo. Even though we didn’t know how much money we had, Adi was grinning from ear to ear when he walked out of there with two little plastic pouches of Holland’s finest produce, and I couldn’t possibly hold it against him.

We did indeed reach some forest and after sufficient cycling away from the main roads, we camped in a spot between a few towering trees that cleanly marked off our area. After dinner, we read for a bit whilst indulging in a taste of Adi’s purchases. The tent filled with swirls of grey and we slept soundly through the storm that our muted senses reluctantly registered from outside.

***

The next day, we never made it out of the tent.

The storm was fierce and bashed against the walls, keeping us firmly inside. We had just enough food and water to last the day and agreed loosely that we would go if it cleared up. When we inched our way outside to go to the toilet, we saw drenched leaves and fallen trees. As our tent was situated snuggly between four of them, we hoped that tonight we wouldn’t get another storm, or else we might be rudely awoken by a collapsing tree smashing our skulls in.

***

In the morning it was still raining, but we knew we had to leave. We put on all our waterproofs and begrudgingly left our forest.

I cycled in front and we went downhill towards the next town. Adi was unusually slow and every now and then I heard a thud behind me where his bike gently veered off the path and into the grass.

He was quite obviously stoned, and with each inevitable thud, I couldn’t stop laughing. Perhaps cycling through Holland wasn’t the cleverest plan.

We rolled leisurely on. We wanted to make it as near to Utrecht as possible tonight, so that in the morning we could get there in daylight (an ambitious goal in winter). We stopped about 10km earlier when we saw a big forest on our right. It had been raining on and off all day and after manoeuvring our bikes through a narrow path formed by a chunky wooden fence, we pushed them through thick mud until we found a place far enough and flat enough to camp. We had shared a bottle of wine earlier and were still feeling tipsy in that nice, bouncy way before exhaustion overtakes. I set up the tent while Adi unloaded the bikes.

We got inside, played some Manu Chao through the speakers and finished off the last of our wacky baccy, some snacks and the remainder of our wine.

***

Against every instinct, we got up the next morning and cycled to the city. We arrived in the afternoon as twilight slowly dawned.

I have never been to Utrecht before, but have always wanted to go. It is a student city, vibrant and busy and a lot like Amsterdam (which I’ve visited many times and loved). I knew that if I wasn’t on the bike, and it was a nice summer’s day, I would want to explore it more, but right now it was stressful trying to cut through swarms of people with these bulky apparatus.

We spotted a phone box underneath the train station and I almost got killed about three times crossing the road from oncoming cyclists. Masses of bikes were chaotically piled together on large pavements and crowds skirted around them like second-class citizens.

Adi got on the phone while I was harassed by students trying to get me to answer questionnaires.  He found out his bank balance but didn’t have the expected look of horror on his face. We had overestimated our prolific spending abilities and shockingly, there was enough money!

The next task was finding an internet café where we could book our ferry.  First though, Adi wanted to check out the train prices to the Hook of Holland. If it was cheap enough, we could even get the ferry this evening.

He came back with the schedule and prices. It was fairly cheap and we decided it was worth it. My Birthday was tomorrow and rather than waking up in some random part of Holland and cycling through rain and cold, we could be in warm dwellings with family and friends.

We dipped into a restaurant and used their WiFi, booked the last ferry and informed family that quite unexpectedly, we were returning tomorrow!

It was compulsory to book a cabin for the overnight ferry and we paid a bit extra for the “comfort” option. We didn’t know what this word would entail, but since we hadn’t experienced anything in the vicinity of comfort for some time, even paying for the word; the sheer idea of comfort was attractive enough to part us with a few extra coins.

After a couple of short train journeys, we got to the port early enough to check in in good time.

We queued with the cars and then excitedly handed over our passports to the lady at the desk. Everything in the minibar was ours, she told us, because we paid for it. We looked at each other with beaming faces, pleased with what “comfort” was promising so far. We dared not hope for a shower, but it secretly swam in the back of our minds with other possible delights.

Inside, we tied the bikes to some railings at the bottom deck before climbing up the many stairs to our cabin.

When we unlocked the little door and walked in, blasted my warmth, we exhaled the day’s events and immediately threw down all of our stuff.  It didn’t take long before the carefully prepared room resembled the chaotic innards of our tent.

Adi slumped on the big white bed whilst I opened the narrow door on my right to the shower –yes shower- room. There was also TV and internet.

There was tea on the side, biscuits, fruit and crisps. Inside the fridge were four baby cans of beer, two mini bottles of wine, some orange juice and mineral water. After we both had a luxurious shower and changed our clothes, we went down to the canteen to get something to eat. Choices were slim as they were packing up, so we had a chicken “curry” (the school canteen version). Then we went to the duty free shop and bought some more drink and chocolate. By the time we got back to the cabin, the walls were floating from side to side, the floor was rising and falling, and each step I took had a two-second delay while my brain readjusted to the constant tickling of my sense of balance.  My stomach wasn’t happy with any of this and I had to lie down.

My sole focus was to avoid being sick and consequently, I could not face drinking wine or partaking in any other “comfort” activity.

Eventually, I fell asleep breathing slowly through the unpleasant waves in my stomach and head. Adi meanwhile, helped himself to the minibar…

***

Only a few hours later we were awoken with the unnecessarily loud and cheery melody of Bobby McFerrin’s “Don’t worry, be happy” blaring through the speakers in our room. That was the wakeup call and we had to be off the ferry in one hour.

It was six in the morning when we cycled out of the port. England was dark and chilly. It was really strange cycling on the left side of the road and I was sad I could no longer use my European wing mirror that I was now accustomed to.

Tired and eager to get home, we got ourselves to Harwich station and bought train tickets all the way to Brighton.

We got there at 10am and it was a bright sunny day. Walking down to the seafront, we came across a new Swiss restaurant appropriately named, Swisstorant and were happy to see familiar items on the menu such as raclette, fondue, Swiss Christmas cookies and Ovaltine!

On West Street we found a cheap and trusty establishment and got ourselves a bargain English breakfast. It was my Birthday and I was very happy to be eating high-cholesterol foods in my home town this sunny morning. I didn’t realise until now how much I had missed Brighton! After breakfast and a disgustingly decadent Ben’s cookie, we cycled to our friends’ place in Rottingdean. It felt amazing to be on the tiny little bike lane on Brighton’s seafront, having cycled it millions of times before, but now, everything seeming different. Our bikes were considerably grimier than when they had left, and we were considerably fitter (so we assumed). We were shocked when we saw a gigantic wheel (like the London eye but smaller) in the middle of the seafront; a huge addition to the city I was born and raised in. When we were away the time had gone so fast, but now suddenly it felt like we’d been gone for years.

After a birthday drink and dumping all of our belongings in our friends’ porch, we cycled to Portslade where I was greeted with Birthday cards and gifts, my lovely little sister and my Mums delicious roast lamb! It was great to see my family again.

When it was dark, we cycled back to Rottingdean along the undercliff pass, where stones were scattered from the recent storms and waves still crashed over the sides. We sat with friends on cushioned sofas in front of a fire, the wind whistling and rattling against the windows. We drank beer and reminisced at length about the trip: the time we slept in a golf course, all the times I fell off my bike, climbing up the mountains, the sun in France, the rain in Germany, and the ease with which we could now cycle up hills.

We laughed and told stories and it felt like I’d just arrived on holiday

…even though it was quite the opposite.

***

My cold had well and truly put its feet up and seemed pretty resolute in its assumption that neither it, nor I, was going anywhere. But it had just turned December and we were still in Switzerland. Adi and I were mindful of the approach of Christmas (which we needed to be back in England for) and time’s amazing ability to creep up on you when you think you’ve got plenty of it. So, we drugged me up with Pretuval C and left.

Adi’s mum filled our panniers with supplies of Züpfe, spätzli, homemade Christmas cookies, sausages, dried tomatoes (that she and her husband had dried themselves), two extra sleeping bags, an extra pair of gloves and lots of hand-knitted socks. We were so much bulkier and better equipped for the way back that we had to leave a few things behind, including our second pair of shoes. Since we only ever used our waterproof hiking shoes anyway, this wasn’t a great loss.

Adi’s Mum and her husband drove us to Basel with our bikes strapped to the trailer. When we arrived they smothered us in hugs and teary-eyed goodbyes before we cycled off in the rain. It had taken us quite a while to get everything together in the morning and give Adi’s mum her spare room back in a reasonable state, so by now it was already getting late.

We had bought some new (more expensive) head-torches in Bern, as our previous ones had given up and died. However much we told ourselves we would stop early so far in the trip, we would always end up cycling in the dark. So finally, we accepted the truth and became equipped for it. With the broad, white, confident beams of light emanating from our foreheads, we could see all of night-time’s usual surprises and dodge them speedily and expertly, so it was well worth the money. Night-cycling became very much a core activity in our trip.

We cycled over the border into Germany and looked for our cycle route which followed the river Rhein all the way to Rotterdam in Holland. Some of the route was just a dirt track, so when we found it, it was very muddy from the rain. We came to a sign for a diversion, but as usual, we decided to ignore it. Thanks to this, we fought through thick mud, over pebbles and sand. It felt like cycling on a beach and of course, no beach is complete without water. The path eventually led us to a river. The only way to the other side was through it, so Adi took the most logical approach and cycled over. I however, convinced that I would slip over a slimy rock or fall from the current of the water, decided to walk my bike through. I found the shallowest part where the rocks were still visible and slowly stepped over, happy that my waterproof shoes were doing their tricks. Just as I was coming to the end, my feet plunged into a deep pool up to my knees and my shoes, however water resistant the fabric may have been, could not protect themselves from the cold river gushing in from the top. I sat on some pebbles at the other side, poured out the water and wrung out my socks to Adi’s amusement. Having left my other shoes behind, I was stuck with these ones for the rest of the trip. The only thing to do was to put on some dry socks, tie carrier bags around my feet and press them into my squelching shoes, hoping that eventually, somehow, they would dry out.The cycle route was flat and right next to the river, with grass or forest usually on the other side. Tired and hungry, we took such a spot, made some tortellini with tomato sauce and some mountain cheese Adi’s mum had given us, and cosied up with our double sleeping bag set-up. We made Ovaltine, ate Christmas cookies and read before falling asleep.

The air wasn’t as cold as it had been, so in the night we were actually too warm at times. It was very windy and pouring with rain, so we both woke up due to the rain hitting the taught skin of our tent with such force that it sounded like drums.

Being outside would take some getting used to again, but at least we were warm.

10 miles

***

We didn’t get going until about midday today. It was raining when we left. When the sun came out, we played music on our speakers and enjoyed rolling along the path to the plodding rhythm of reggae. But very quickly, rain would timidly patter, warning us of the imminent downpour and we would have to throw on all our layers and put the speakers away. It would rain like crazy for five to ten minutes and then the sun would come out again, making us look suddenly well overdressed to anyone just coming outside. This happened throughout the day, peppering our cycling routine with comical interludes of sudden activity and broken reggae melodies.

At 8pm we camped in a field behind the path.

40 miles

***

We woke up late and almost immediately got into an argument. It was a stupid one concerning Adi not being able to find his hat, so we were both in a bad mood for the rest of the morning, and both too stubborn to either address it or snap out of it without it being addressed. And yes, for some reason, the hat was inside my sleeping bag… but I swear I had nothing to do with it!

I was ill, Germany was dreary and everything became grueling and stressful. We had also run out of toilet roll the day before, so I had to get creative and blow my nose on a vest top my sister had given me. When our path led us past a big wooden hut with a roof and benches, we were more than happy to call it a day. We made up, gave each other a big hug and resolved to have a chilled afternoon/evening and then start early in the morning.

We used all our weight to push the enormous, solid benches to the sides of the hut so we could put our mats between them; put the blanket over the top, followed by the four sleeping bags. We lit some candles and made a dinner of pasta, sun-dried tomatoes, courgette and cheese. I tried my first eggnog and German beer after a nice, calming dose of Pretuval C. The eggnog tasted confusing, but yummy.

We sipped Ovaltine and finished off the Christmas cookies whilst reading in the candlelight. It rained outside and we were glad to be protected by our very own wooden roof.

20 miles

***

Getting up was easier in the hut. Our things were spread out on the benches that formed walls around our “bed” and there was space to move around and stand up.  Adi heated up the leftovers from last night’s pasta and some tea, then we packed up and left. We needed water and toilet roll -getting out an ever moistening mass of material every time I wanted to blow my nose wasn’t quite as convenient or discreet whilst cycling as a tissue, so we looked for a nearby shop.

Instead of continuing on the path, we followed a sign on the left for a town in France. It turned out to be quite a cycle before we found an Aldi, and it took us most of the day to get out again.

There were mad roads with lots of traffic and we were eager to get back to the German side of the Rhein and to our easy, signposted route. Instead we went further and further into France, across ever-expanding roads. The rain poured down our faces, through our clothes and into our gloves. My shoes were still wet inside from my graceful river crossing the other day and despite the carrier bags over my feet, my socks remained damp from moisture that crept into tiny holes in the plastic. When we finally found shelter under a bridge to have lunch, I was pretty cold, wet, uncomfortable and hungry.I quickly put on some different layers and swapped things around a bit and we ate lunch standing up until the rain stopped.

Afterwards, I turned my soggy gloves inside out and strapped them to my bike to dry while there was no rain. It did the job, despite looking a bit sinister from a distance. It was getting dark but we made it into Strasbourg. It was a huge city with many roads sprouting in all directions, a cycle path for each one, and no clear signs as to where we should go. We went in the direction of a German town called Kehl. We kept following cycle routes that led us in circles, wrong directions or dead-ends. Trying to navigate ourselves in such a big city in the dark with no map was very tiring. At Kehl we cycled half- heartedly, until we found the sign for our cycle path.Relieved, we went to the nearby German supermarket Rewe (which I pronounce “roo” but Adi assures me that in German it’s pronounced “reveh”) and got ourselves some well-deserved treats.

We bought Chocolate, Christmas mulled wine, a bottle of Mead – or “honey wine” to have warm, and some energy drink with vodka in it, as well as some items for our dinner.

Our cycle path cut between two fields and no-one else was in sight. The air was warm and we were reassured to be on the right track again and away from the city. The Rhein soon appeared on our left and we were pushed along by a strong tail-wind.

After a couple of hours of cycling alongside each other and chatting between sips of vodka and energy drink, our path took us on a confusing detour. Tiredness began to catch up with us, so we looked for places to camp. My cold symptoms always come out more at night and my nose blocked and body ached. We camped at the back of a large field just off the road.

Adi, seeing how pathetic I had rapidly become, offered to make dinner. I collapsed into my sleeping bag with my head propped up and my nose stuffed with tissue. Adi made me a Pretuval C. As he prepared dinner, I drifted in and out of light sleep and my thoughts rested on our journey from Austria to Switzerland: the icy cold nights, knowing that we wouldn’t be able to sleep but feeling exhausted nevertheless. Lying in my sleeping bags now, sipping my warm drink, and waiting for our meal, I felt very lucky to be so warm and comfortable and to be looked after by Adi.

Not only a hero, but a magician: he pulled out a surprise bar of my favourite lindt chocolate –white with a delicious truffly mousse centre. Adi read for a little while, but I -satisfied on every possible level, fell straight to sleep.

50 miles

***

I had a great night of deep sleep and funky dreams, and woke up feeling refreshed to find the sun shining. Adi wasn’t awake yet, so I gave him lots of kisses before making him a cup of tea and heating up the breakfast. We cycled off in the sun and found our route easily again. The whole day was a fairly straightforward ride following the river. Seeing the water there always makes us feel secure because technically, all we have to do is follow it all the way to Holland, so we can’t go too far wrong if it’s shimmering in the background. When the path deviates for whatever reason, that’s when it gets tricky, going through towns or dealing with multiple roads. Signs are missed or we get confused and it can take a really long time to find our way again.

We had lunch at about 4.30 just as the sun was setting and the sky was sliced with fiery reds and pinks. On the other side was a full moon glowing through dark, moody clouds. After lunch we went to a village nearby to get water and dinner. We continued in the dark and after a while, warmed up some Mead to give us a bit of a kick and keep us from giving in to the ever-nagging temptation to set up camp already. We almost found ourselves another hut, quite isolated and overlooking the river where dots of colour were reflected from the town ahead. It seemed perfect, but on closer inspection, the floor was made of big rocks which would have been uncomfortable even under the mats, so we carried on. The terrain from then on was rocky, extremely gravelly, with large puddles and mud, and was quite a struggle to get through. It was a long time before we reached a large patch of grass with a tiny track ahead that had trees overlapping either side. It was clearly unsuitable for cycling. Somewhere, somehow, we had gone the wrong way. We had to backtrack over the unpredictable terrain all over again. Eventually we were too tired to continue, so we found some grass down a hill from the path and camped there.

In the early hours it started to rain and it didn’t stop.

40 miles

***

When we woke up, we decided to wait for the rain to stop before we left the tent. We made tea and breakfast and read for a few hours. The rain still poured. We had lunch and Ovaltine and read some more, the rain still kept falling. I finished my book, had a nap; it started to get dark and the rain carried on. We played with the idea of going anyway, but we were too cosy and it was getting too late… our bodies were in rest mode, and they were committed to it now. We decided to stay another night and try again tomorrow. Unfortunately, we had run out of water, so Adi quickly cycled to the next village to get provisions while I stayed in the tent. He returned with water, beer, chocolate, sausages, bread, yogurts and milk. We watched a trashy vampire movie with the remaining battery on Adi’s laptop.0 miles

***

We had lots of rain and cold over the next few days and were beginning to lose the will to cycle our minimum of 50 miles a day. It was a hard slog cycling into the night and going to bed completely exhausted. After a few more late nights and not so early mornings, with cold and rain, lacklustre, dragging days, draining us of energy and spirit, we entertained the idea of getting the train for the next leg of the trip. We resolved to cycle to the nearest city tomorrow and find out train prices. We had been in Germany for one week, cycling roughly 50 miles a day in order to get home in time for Christmas. However, looking at the map it seemed like we had barely cycled a third of its length. What was meant to be a leisurely trip back suddenly became a race against time.

The next morning we got to Oppenheim.  For 48 Euros we could get a cross-country ticket that took us via regional trains all the way to Duisburg (near the border).

We got some snacks and jumped on (as much as it is possible to jump with 60kg bikes).

Due to the heat, I was made suddenly aware of windburn on my face. My skin was flushed and incredibly dry – one of the symptoms that made going inside less comfortable than my fantasies previously anticipated.

Finally at about midnight, we got on our last train to Duisburg. As we heaved our bikes into the narrow space on the train where they were permitted, we were cheered on by a panel of drunken men facing us who asked many slurred questions about our trip and gave many eccentric insights into a range of worldly subjects.

They mostly talked German with Adi, but every now and then they’d talk in English to me. One of them: Andre, perhaps the most sober, told us which train to get if we wanted to get closer to the border. He came with us for part of the journey and we talked about how resilient our bikes had been throughout the trip –not even getting one flat tyre!

When we got outside, it was already about 1am, but we were excited at the prospect of getting to Holland that night. We crossed the border and cycled into our sixth and last country.

Our mileage was impressively boosted with the aid of 48 Euros and a speeding vehicle. Now, thankfully, home was not so far away…***

After a few days of rest, at about 6pm, with gloves, hats, scarves and double layers of clothes, we dragged ourselves out of the house and back into the cold. We were going to a Christmas market. I was promised mulled wine and hot soup –that sounded like a good enough reason to go anywhere. When we got to the village of Huttwil, we were met with twinkling lights, some mechanical organ music that played Abba hits -which seemed odd and comical and I wasn’t sure if it fit in with the heavily Christmassy theme of the whole market, and a gaudy looking carousel with slightly racist motifs of black people pushing sleighs. Adi’s nephew Yannick insisted on riding it of course, in a teacup with some older, burly looking children who spun it around on its own axis frantically. Yannick staggered off afterwards looking like someone who’d discovered the meaning of life, or was about to throw up. Abba tinkled on in the background…Adi and I parted ways with his parents and Yannick, arranging to meet in two hours before heading into the crowd. We bought pea soup with some kind of meat in it. It was thick, creamy and earthy like any good winter soup. Then, Adi got some mulled wine while I got hot apple punch. It was exactly how you’d imagine it to be, smooth, sweet, warm, washing delightfully over my still raw throat.There were many stalls decorated like individual grottos and selling all kinds of things: handmade jewellery, huge glass Christmas decorations, knitted things, candles, but mostly tempting Christmas foodstuffs.We watched a band playing traditional Swiss music, and later a group of young girls yodelling in harmony…We bought käseschnitte (some bread with lovely thick melty cheesy stuff)…We watched some metalworkers firing and bending their metal into horseshoes in an open fire……and then we had some hot chocolate with whiskey and cream on top.Everything was super expensive, but then, it’s Switzerland and it’s Christmas: two reasons working together to lure money from tourists’ pockets.

We passed a stall with handmade woodcarvings, dolls houses and elaborate wooden contraptions that spun while characters moved from only the power of a little wind or a burning candle underneath.Nearby, a huge nativity scene had been crafted with wood by the same man using a chainsaw.We finished off the evening by returning to the beginning, where we listened more attentively to the two mechanical organ players. Their faces were deep in concentration as they each diligently wound a little metal handle around a huge Victorian looking box, perfectly in time with each other. The machine jingled the songs in such melancholy minor chords, that it was hard not to feel a little sentimental listening to their rendition of “Dancing queen” in new, empathic tones. The crisp ting of each note reminded me of childhood wind-up ballerina jewellery boxes.  I felt a mixture of things. The music twinkled, the air smelt of dough and sugar and orange, I was wrapped up warm with the night air still fresh on my face. And I realised I was wrong. Somehow, perhaps aided by my festively tipsy state, the music of Abba actually managed to fit perfectly into the market’s Christmas theme.You are the dancing queen, young and sweet, only seventeen…Dancing queen, feel the beat on the tambarine, oh yeeeaaah. You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life… see that girl, watch that scene… diggin’ the dancing queen…

I woke with a headache and a sore throat, which got progressively worse during the day. I was getting ill again. We’d been away for a week. Amongst other things, we’d slept through freezing conditions, cycled up three mountains and been attacked by a horde of goats. It was a spectacular, eventful, cold, hard, beautiful week and I was looking forward to a few days rest at Adi’s parents’ house.Last night we cycled down a never-ending drop, and it wasn’t finished yet. Between my thumb and forefinger was a lingering, dull ache from relentlessly gripping my breaks. Today, as we continued cycling downhill towards the village of Meiringen I pulled on them sparingly, allowing myself to speed down the hills, afforded by the luxury of daylight.

There was one small climb and the rest was more or less flat. We bought some shopping in Brienz so that we wouldn’t be caught out again by lack of food. Then we cycled to the large town of Interlaken. I liked it there, even though it was touristy, or perhaps because it was touristy. I missed the convenience of having everything available in one place, even though it had none of the charm of the countryside and was full of designer boutiques and shops catered mainly for the super-rich.

We found ourselves a McDonalds and made use of their free WiFi and plugs to charge up our things. We bought cups of tea and endured the sickly warmth and artificial light as a kind of payment. By the time we came out of there, we were both feeling really quite ill. Maybe because it was such a contrast from being outside, or maybe because we were just getting ill, either way, McDonalds seemed to be a weird catalyst for all our dormant ailments.

When we came out, it was dark. There was a pharmacy next door, so we looked for some magic formula that would get us through the next couple of days. Adi had also chipped one of his teeth a few days ago and was beginning to get recurring toothache.

We bought some dissolvable tablets that Adi used to take whenever he was feeling really bad and still needed to go to work. They are called Pretuval C. He remembered how effective they were for most problems, so we knew they would be up to the job.

We hoped to find a place to camp soon, as we were both tired, hungry and feeling ill. However, it took us a lifetime to get out of the city. We cycled on and on in the direction of Bern, but there was never anywhere appropriate to camp. Everything we saw was either too exposed, too close to a village, or fenced- off farmland. We’d gone past several stages of hunger and fatigue as the time rolled on and were still cycling at 1am. Finally, we pushed our bikes to the top of a hill and camped on some flat grass near a farm.

We made some pasta with tomato sauce and our lovely acquired cheese, and even though the pasta was overcooked and a bit sloppy, I was so hungry that it hit the spot anyway. Afterwards, we drank hot Pretuval C which was sweet, lemony, and incredibly soothing on my throat. Within minutes, we fell straight to sleep.

***

When we woke again, the sun was shining through the tent and a few drops of condensation were falling on my sleeping bag from above. I hadn’t woken during the night, and though I was a little cold (mainly my feet), I had slept well. I didn’t have my usual aches upon waking and I felt surprisingly good. I nudged Adi, whose face was poking out of a tiny hole where the sleeping bag was snuggly cinched around his head. He said he felt the same. The medicine had done its magic! We got up, reheated the last bits of pasta that were in the pan, with lots more cheese, and then made some more hot Pretuval C to get us through the day. Thanks to our impromptu night expedition last night, we were now only a day’s cycle away from Adi’s mum’s house. We wanted to get there before dark, as all of our lights had run out of battery, so we’d need to get going fast.

We packed up and headed off into the sunshine with a new determination. We were both in a great mood. Our route was nice, with a few climbs, but otherwise lots of flat and downhill sections.

The prospect of a hot bath, being indoors in the warm and sleeping in a bed also spurred us on. We fantasised about wearing clean clothes, eating a hot dinner, sitting with a cup of Ovaltine and watching episodes of The Walking Dead (a brilliant American zombie series that we had been downloading and watching throughout our trip). This image kept me cycling through the kilometres, and also, I believe, kept my cold temporarily at bay.

On the way, we saw a truck from the same company where Adi’s Dad works. Adi was just about to tell me this when he realised it was actually his Dad inside the truck. We stopped and had a little chat with him. He was happy to see us and very impressed that we had cycled the three mountains. He often drives up those mountains himself, so knows the magnitude of our challenge. He also, we found out later, remarked to Adi’s Mum that if we saw the roads we had cycled down (the Grimselpass) in daylight, we would’ve been a lot more nervous about it, as some of it is really quite dodgy.

With the ice and steep areas without railings, even at night we were pretty aware of the danger. The darkness only made us feel more vulnerable.

After a couple of uphill climbs (which we tackled with a new ease after our mountains), we passed a stall with a guy selling hot, grilled chicken. It was too good to resist, so with our last Swiss francs we got a whole one to eat with the bread we had bought earlier. We sat on some benches outside a train station and ate the best lunch we’d had in a long time.

By 2pm we got on the bikes again with half a chicken in our bellies and the knowledge that we were only a few hours away from warmth and comfort. We cycled mostly downhill all the way to Burgdorf, the place where Adi was born.

Slowly, it began to get darker and colder, and we rode the rest of the way through a blanket of fog. By 6pm we were riding through high traffic on big main roads. We’d bought some batteries so our lights could shine sufficiently brighter, but it didn’t stop some maniacal buses driving well into the bicycle lane, within a hair’s breadth of us and our trembling bikes. Unfortunately, these vehicles are usually long gone before we’ve recovered enough to shout abuse.

We finally reached Arwangen at 7pm. In the local shop we eagerly bought some Ovaltine, milk and a bottle of mulled wine before being greeted by Adi’s parents and their under-floor heating.

Inside their house, we ate a hot meal and had a bath. Once in a warm, safe environment, my illness decided to enthusiastically declare itself, and I suddenly felt overwhelmed by heat, rest and eucalyptus infused bath oil. Adi and I made some more Pretuval C and soon after, I collapsed onto the bed and fell fast asleep. After the week we just had, I think I deserved it.

It was still chilly in the night and I was sleeping on a slope, but at least it wasn’t icy and our water was still in liquid form.  We got going just as the sun came up, and made our way towards the mountain. It continued to be a fairly mild climb, but then as we got further, the road became steeper as it curled up the mountain. We struggled slowly around each bend and stopped frequently to catch our breath and sip water. After three and a half hours, and some gorgeous views, we got to the top. I had always seen the peaks of mountains from a distance and had never been so close to the flawless blocks of white sitting between patches of dry earth. I was quite in awe when we walked down from the Oberalppass to the river, our feet hopping between clefts, happy to have a break from cycling. I think the mountain air also made me a little light-headed.We cycled down the other side past this lake, and towards the town of Andermatt.It was 1pm when we got there and I was already so tired. The village was small and chilly compared to the top of the mountain. We cycled around trying to find food. It was Sunday and we stupidly hadn’t bought any the day before. Every shop was closed, but we passed a café where the owner sold us some bread rolls for a very pricey sum. Unfortunately, we didn’t have much choice.

We ate our meagre lunch in a sunny field nearby and then decided to go back and try to search for something resembling dinner. Between Andermatt and our next mountain pass, there were only a couple of small villages and we were very unlikely to find food there. We had no choice but to pay (extremely well off) tourist prices for a couple of sandwiches in another café. The food we did manage to get would have to be spread out for the next day too. We had a big mountain to climb and we needed a hearty breakfast.

We cycled past the village Hospenthal and then continued in the direction of the Furkapass (our biggest mountain). It was early, but we were both tired and disheartened by our lack of food, so we cycled down to the nearest field, next to the river. We set up camp in daylight, hoping no one would tell us off. We skipped dinner, but made a cup of tea and had some little snacks. Too tired even to read, we had a very early night at 7pm. Again, I was quite cold, so had a broken sleep.

***

We got up super early. After a long slog up to the Furkapass we would have another mountain almost straight after (the Grimselpass). Though it would be less of a climb, as we would already be quite high up, we needed to get there before dark, and as winter was approaching, this was getting rapidly earlier. The Furkapass apparently closed at 6pm and we suspected the Grimselpass did too. In fact, it was lucky that we could cycle them at all as they are usually closed this time of year for the winter. This year’s unusual weather has served us well in our ambitions, as has our general foolishness.

We cooked some rice for breakfast, as there was one small bag left in my pannier from before Austria. Everything had frozen again, and we were glad to get on the road so that we could warm up. We had two sandwiches left for the way and a couple of snacks for energy drops.

Serious climbage

Once we started up the mountain, we got into a rhythm and it wasn’t too bad. I only concentrated on three things, one: cycling as slow as possible, two: breathing –long, slow breaths, and three: cycling in zigzags –this helped curb the steepness slightly. I also held the handlebars at the furthest point from me, thus stretching my back. There were many stretches of road without railings, so we made sure to cycle in the middle. Too far to the edge soon gave us vertigo when we got a glimpse of the many meters drop below. We both listened out for cars from behind and always stopped on the right to let them pass. It was risky to carry on cycling; one wrong move and it would probably be me that slipped off the edge to my death, given my fondness for accidents.

Many cars that passed us on the way waved, beeped or gave us the thumbs up. We were the only cyclists going up the mountain on this November morning.Steadily, we edged upwards. Energy was good and spirits were high. It wasn’t until I could see the top that the mountain started to beat me.We had been cycling uphill for almost 5 hours, with few stops and I was starting to get really tired. My legs were wobbly, everything ached and the heat was draining me of the little energy I had left. Still, we carried on, stopping more and more regularly.We finally made it to the top at about 2pm. We were relieved, exhausted and excited at the same time. We walked around over the thick snow, marvelling at the voluptuous white paradise stretching out in every direction. We were 2436 metres high and each metre of this beautiful view was painstakingly earned.We sped easily down the other side, undoing a devastating portion of the hard work we’d done.On the way down, we stopped to see the rapidly melting glacier. Adi saw it as a child when it was considerably bigger.After a long, steep drop, we got to the village of Gletsch, where we filled up our water from a nearby stream before dragging our reluctant legs up to the Grimselpass. It was 3.30pm when we started and we still hadn’t encountered a shop. Our small amount of food was artfully staggered throughout the day, but we were running out of provisions and needed to buy ingredients for dinner from the nearest shop on the other side.

It was a small climb compared to the Furkapass, but my muscles still protested. They had reached their physical limit and yet here I was, attempting to push them beyond it. After a ridiculously sluggish cycle up the first kilometre or so, it was obvious we weren’t getting anywhere fast. We decided to push the bikes up and Adi kindly strapped the back of his bike to the front of mine, taking most of the weight. Because of this, I had a rather pleasant walk up the final mountain, but for Adi, I can’t speak.When we were almost at the top, we cycled the last bit. By the time we could enjoy the lovely views on the other side of the Grimselpass, it was dark. We could just make out a lake and mountains in the background, and even in low visibility, they still retained some of their grandeur.The never-ending drop of doom

We cycled downhill, being careful not to slip on the frosty roads. All my weight wanted to plummet down the hill and was only stunted by my fingers pulling on the breaks so hard that they hurt. I couldn’t see much and had to use what little light I had and a lot of guesswork to avoid the icy, wet sections, as well as the nearby exposed road edge. It seemed like we were going downhill forever and my hands were becoming really painful from the constant fight to steady the wheels against natural full-throttle hurtling.

After many tight bends and expanses of steep road, with no shops in sight and no signs of villages, I started to get really frustrated and irritable. I was hungry, exhausted, and the freezing wind lashing against our faces just made everything a whole lot more unpleasant. We had to stop a lot to give my hands a break, but even then, we were shivering with cold, skipping from one foot to the other to keep warm.

I thought the day would never end.

Finally we got to a village called Guttannen and were so relieved to reach life, light and the possibility of shops. We scanned the village and only found one shop. It was closed.

A villager happened to be walking by and Adi asked her if there was anything open. She said no.

In desperation, Adi told her the story of where we came from this morning and our lack of food situation and asked if she would sell us some. She walked us to her house and we went inside where it was warm and lovely and I just wanted to curl up there and then on her floor and refuse to leave. I resisted creating this potentially embarrassing situation for Adi’s sake.

She kindly gave us a huge slab of cheese that her family of farmers had made as well as some risotto rice. She said she didn’t want any money for it, so we very gratefully shook hands and left.

We cycled to a green that we saw on entering the village and set up camp in the middle of it.

Adi made the risotto while I put on every piece of clothing I had with me, in a bid to stay warm for the night. We got into our sleeping bags and had piping hot risotto with local cheese. Simple, but amazingly delicious after the day we had. It wasn’t long before we fell asleep and all our aches and pains and toil were blissfully forgotten.

The next day our camping place was covered in frost-kissed twigs and crunchy white leaves. We had cycled for a long time in the night, deep into the forest so that we’d be reasonably hidden. This morning we realised quite quickly that we were right next to a path where the joggers took their morning run. We greeted them cheerily nevertheless, and some greeted us back, while others just gawped.Adi relit the fire to take the edge off the morning chill. After we got packed up, the sun came out and warmed us some more.

We cycled up a 4km steady incline and the road sparkled as we rolled over the thin layer of frost.

On this particular route, we would have to cycle over three mountain passes: the Oberalppass, the Furkapass and the Grimselpass. We had no idea what to expect, but we hoped it would be no steeper than the hill we were cycling. Even though it would be much longer, on a low gear the steepness alone was quite manageable.

When we got to the top, a railed, comma-shaped pathway coiled above the edge of the road to give a brilliant birds-eye view of the Rhein and the mountains surrounding it. It was called the Ruinaulta (Rhein canyon). We carried on through typical Swiss backdrops until reaching the first of some strenuous uphill climbs. Again, we hoped our mountain passes would not be as steep as these, but given that our guidebook had classed this section as “moderate” and the mountainous sections as “difficult”, this was optimism at its most desperate.

As I reached the end of another stretch, red-faced, panting and visibly stressed, an old man was shouting something in Swiss-German, which according to Adi translated as: well done, you made it to the top!

I was very relieved that this was, in fact, the top and there were no more surprises waiting for me around the next bend.

We had reached a small village called Versam. We bought some snacks at the shop and got chatting to a bus driver who knew the mountains well. To our relief, he said that the Oberalppass (our first of three) was not as steep as the hill we just cycled, it was only longer.

Our long descent led us through many little Swiss villages and every scene was uniquely striking. We were already impressed by much of the countryside in France, now it seemed, Switzerland was just showing off.Winter wonderland

Eventually we got down to the river where everything was icy. Up above, to the right, the mountains looked clear and sunny, but here in the shadow side, all was cloaked in white with little crystals jutting out like bristles.We bought some more ingredients for mulled wine in a village, before cycling in the dark in search of our sleeping place. Everywhere was frozen, rocky terrain. We finally found somewhere with just enough space for our tent between large immovable rocks, so freezing cold and hungry, we took it. It also tempted us with what looked like a fireplace.

The fire took ages to make because of wet and icy wood, we couldn’t get the pegs in the ground without the aid of a large stone and lots of bashing, and our mats’ even refused to inflate. I woke many times in the night, shivering. It wasn’t the most inspiring promotion for a winter bike tour.

***

In the morning we forced ourselves to get up. The water in our bottles was solid. One bottle fell to the ground and the plastic was so brittle that a piece snapped off. The others’ lids were frozen on and when Adi tried to force one open, water sprayed out of a tiny hole. We didn’t attempt to unscrew anymore after that. We heated up the remainder of the last night’s pasta and tried to defrost our gloves at the same time. Adi’s jacket was crispy and stuck to the floor and I felt like my blood had also frozen in the night.We eventually got cycling and warmed up pretty quick with a few steep but small climbs. Once on the other side of the bridge, it was bright and sunny again and our bottles slowly began to defrost enough to unscrew the lids and obtain a few drops of water that had melted. We had to keep changing clothes as the path interchanged between sunny and shadow land and the temperature in each was dramatically different.At the bottom of another steep hill, we saw a crowd of goats grazing either side of our path.The Goat attack

Halfway up was a bench, so after struggling in the heat for a little while, we sat and had lunch. We spread the food across the bench and dipped and picked until our bellies were full. In the distance we heard bells getting gradually louder, followed by a couple of goats peeking over the hill. More appeared and came right up to us.

Having not had much experience with goats, I was a little naïve… thinking, “Wow, they aren’t very shy”, whilst tucking into the rest of my sandwich. Very quickly they had surrounded us, making a beeline for the casually sprawled bread, cheese, jam, butter, chocolate spread, and not disregarding the cutlery.

More of them advanced from different directions and we grabbed everything we could and dashed to the bikes. There were too many and we couldn’t get everything quick enough, so we left a bunch of them to fight for the few items still on the bench, whilst tackling the others that were trying to eat the food out of our hands. As we shoved food into panniers, more goats were diving into the bags and helping themselves. Adi ran back to get the rest of the stuff from the bench. One goat was licking the lid of our chocolate spread and another had a tube of my magnesium tablets in its mouth which Adi had to prize out. Meanwhile, I couldn’t move for goats around me and there were some even climbing on our bikes to reach the food I was holding up in the air. I panicked and shouted for Adi’s help. I had never even seen this many goats before, let alone had tens of them stalking my every move. Adi was pushing them away by their horns, but they kept coming back. I worried that they would bite us in defence.  We shoved food and cutlery into any available opening we could, before quickly sealing off the panniers. Finally, once they realised they couldn’t get any more food, we managed to get away and they nonchalantly dispersed.

I couldn’t get up the hill quick enough, and the sound of those bells made my legs wobble, should they come back again.Onwards and upwards

We cycled towards the town of Disentis and bought some bits at the shop. We were nearing the beginning of the Oberalppass, and were dreading it slightly, as it would be our first climb up a mountain. The steady ascent towards it was fairly easy so far, so we were still hopeful that it wouldn’t be as bad as we feared.  As it was getting darker, we looked around for places to camp so that the next day we could tackle the mountain early. We cycled through a couple of villages and stopped at Sedrun to have a hot chocolate in the local pub and look at the map. I looked around and noticed that it was full of men. The table next to us were having a game of cards and speaking Romansch. They kept staring at us. I guess they weren’t used to seeing strangers, especially weird looking ones with bright high-vis cycling clothes. After taking full advantage of their toilet facilities and scented hand-soap, we went back out into the cold and moved up the hill in the dark.

We found a flat grassy spot by a church to camp and vowed to get up early in the morning before Sunday churchgoers delivered us some of their Christian wrath.Tomorrow would be the first of our mountain cycles, and we would once and for all find out whether we should have, in fact, opted for the lake route.