Wednesday: St. Moritz
Today was our long awaited excursion to St. Moritz in Switzerland. We chose to make our way there via the Italian Alps. After a hearty breakfast, we gather in the hotel parking lot overlooking the mountains and everyone climbs on board their bike.
As I soon discover on this trip, the mornings are my favorite part of the day. The air is cool and crisp, the mist is still hanging in the mountains, and the sun is shining. There is nothing like the moment you slide onto the back of the bike. The anticipation of the day — what you may see in this incredibly beautiful countryside, the inspiration you know you are going to feel from just being in this moment. Holding onto Raye, racing past life, the rush of the bike’s power, feeling the wind blowing by — it is hard to describe, but I can tell you it is an intoxicating feeling. The experience made me feel like I can do anything. That somehow there is still much of life to discover, something still amazing left for me to do and I can’t wait to get there.
Our first stop is an interesting site. On the edge of the Italian/Austrian border is a lake that flooded a valley years ago. You can still see the church steeple coming up through the water where the town stood. Very reminiscent of the last scene in the movie “Oh Brother Where Art Thou.”
Out in the flats between passes, we come across two gigantic windmills positioned just beside the lake — this is such a windy spot and hydro-electric power and wind power are the two alternative sources of energy in this area. I think about one of my clients in the oil and gas industry that is working to be a part of the energy solution in America by developing a new natural gas find in Arkansas. Alternative fuel sources are great long-term ideas but not practical for all of us who love to sap up as much energy as we can to move at high rates of speed in our lives. I don’t know many people, really, who would give up easy access to energy — even at today’s prices. But a lot of the world’s problems wouldn’t exist if more people did have the affordable energy sources they needed.
We drive through an old town that has cobblestone streets and many old buildings. Children holler “hallo” to us and wave as we go by. Motorcyclists seem to be a common and welcome site through these communities. In fact, we pass many other motorcycle groups throughout this trip. I’ve learned the biker’s greeting — simply drop your hand out off the side of your leg in a very nonchalant wave. I knew of this gesture in the states, but I didn’t realize it was a sign of camaraderie that is universal.
Heading into the mountain passes, we encounter more switchbacks — kehren (turns) — that are numbered and also show the meter height. We are about 2,500 meters high, which is the equivalent of 7,500 feet or so. Nearly as high as Vail Pass I think. But I don’t feel the effects of the altitute, probably because our base hotel is also in the Alps.
Our guide leads us through an interesting engineering creation found throughout the mountains of Europe. They are open tunnels on one side called “galleries.” As you ride through the tunnel, you can see out one side and down into the valley below. There are a lot of these, and it’s fun to look out while you ride through them. Frank tells us these are built to catch snowfall and prevent avalanches that close roads. Passage through these areas is critical, and you can’t have major roads shut down for months at a time from snowfall.
We stop to eat lunch just on the other side of the Swiss Alps at a small “gasthaus” guest house (hotel) that has an outdoor café beside a creek. This is very common, to round a bend in the road and see a gasthaus standing by the side of the road. “Zimmer frie mit warmen kuche.” Rooms available with warm cooking. Then also the name of the family, “Familie Schmitt.” We guess this is a longtime tradition of local families opening their homes to travelers for extra income to supplement whatever they get from their farming enterprises. On evening walks behind the hotel where we are staying, we follow a narrow road up to a hilltop and we pass no fewer than three or four of these small family inns. In fact, the inn where we are staying is run by the Wilhelm family.
After lunch, Raye and I are tempted by the hammock hanging in the yard — riding through the Alps is hard on Raye to watch the road and we move around a lot as we speed up, slow down, turn right, turn left. It’s great fun for me, but Raye watches the road and really concentrates. Several friends said before we left on this trip: “Be sure to come back in one piece.” As you grow older and have children, you begin to realize the importance of taking only calculated risks. Those black diamond runs on the ski slope during our winter vacations used to attract our adventurous spirit, but we have come to appreciate the fact that someone has to raise our children — and we’d like it to be us. So we don’t take as many chances on our trips like we did when we were in our 20s and invincible. This trip is no exception.
Once the bills have been paid, our group sets out for dark-looking skies toward St. Moritz. The ladies are determined to shop there. We can see it off in the distance set in a stunning valley. As we pull into town, the evidence of wealth is everywhere — in the cars, the hotels, the architecture, the shops — even in the sailing club set beside the beautiful lake that the entire town overlooks.
The ladies are given exactly 30 minutes to power shop, of which 10 minutes are spent climbing the steep hills to get into the middle of the shopping district from where we park our bikes down by the lake. I am used to working at a fast pace, though, so we make quick work of a gourmet chocolate shop — gifts for family, friends and clients. And I manage to grab a fleece jacket for myself with the town’s name stitched on the chest. We simply window shop the expensive designer establishments manned by well dressed attendants. Our motorcycle attire hides any sign of money any of us may have, but the way we looked I’m not so sure we would be that welcome anyway.
Just now at 4:30 p.m., we hop the bikes for the two-plus hours back to home base in Austria. As luck would have it, we encounter not just rain but lightning and hail, which makes an impressive noise when it hits your helmet. I know Raye and the other drivers are becoming concerned about the slickness of the roads. They look a little frothy on the edges, which is surely an indication of the rain mixing with the oils and other liquids left standing on the roads since the last rain.
We stop in a small town under the only available covered spot and don our “frog togs” — rain suits. This is no small feat to get these suits unpacked from the saddle bags and then pulled on over leather clothing and motorcycle jackets. Everything sticks together, but finally everyone is covered the best they can be. Even still, we are already wet and cold and for the first time I am wishing we were already back at the hotel. My wet leather gloves stay wet and my hands never warm up the rest of the way back.
No one seems too excited about the rain as we ride through small town after small town. People have disappeared from the streets for the most part. Even at the Swiss border we are waved through without so much as a passport check. After an hour or so and a painfully slow maneuver through the Innsbruck evening rush hour traffic, the sun breaks through to light up the last leg of the way. Tired and ready for dinner, our guide doesn’t hesitate to take on the last few miles. We race up the side of our mountain at 130 kph — at least 70 mph. Conversation at dinner is quieter than usual as everyone is ready for a good night’s sleep.
iPod playlist: The Moody Blues, The Doobie Brothers, Steve Winwood, Santana, Steppenwolf.
Want to see more photos? Click on the set “Wednesday: St. Moritz” to see highlights of the hairpin turns and immense peaks.)
