Friday: Glaciers, Waterfalls and Churches
Raye is distressed to realize that today will be our last riding day. Neither of us is ready for this to end. We wake up to steady rain, which does nothing to lift our spirits. So we enjoy a long leisurely breakfast and decide to ride regardless of the weather at 10 a.m. Actually the break is welcome as we are a little more tired than we would care to admit.
This time we come to the bikes dry and covered in our rain suits so I am not that concerned about the rain from a passenger’s point of view. We determine to venture out slowly to avoid any last-day mishaps. As it turns out, as we ride into the region the rain is sporadic and we find dry roads fairly quickly. Gray skies remain but we are excited to be out again and I vow to memorize every site and scene of the ride.
Our ride today takes us up gentle mountainsides. We pass one waterfall that is stunning, but we keep riding. In just another minute, we pass one even larger and more magnificent. Then finally we come upon a waterfall bigger than the other two combined. Now we stop. It is truly awesome. Part of the park, this glacier waterfall is a major attraction as evidenced by the many cars parked in a roadside gravel lot. People are walking along hiking trails to the base of the falls. It is common to see people of all ages out walking these sorts of trails and each walker carries a pole in each hand similar to the types of poles snow skiers use. As well, we pass many bicycle riders going up and down the steep mountain passes. Raye and I love watching the Tour de France every year, and in fact we pass one or two riders sporting a team uniform as we drive the switchbacks. We assume they are third string riders who are practicing and hoping to improve their stock on their team. We lament Americans’ lack of interest in such activities. Europeans seem to take to physical exercise more readily.
Finally we go on just another ways to the road’s end, which is also a ski resort in the winter time. A 10-minute walk up the hill leads us to a bridge overlooking the “mutterberg” – mother mountain – waterfall. This water comes straight from the glacier. I can only imagine the water temperature. It does look good enough to drink. This water may flow all the way down into the cities hours below. It all starts here.
As we drive more leisurely down the mountain, we pass another common scene: beautiful gray dairy cows grazing along the road side. They wander freely through the fields and across the road – this must be what we call “free range” livestock, although from the looks of their udders and pleasant faces they are clearly for milk production and not to eat. Each cow wears a brass bell around its neck. We hear clanging bells quite often as we drive through the villages where there are so many farms.
We stop for lunch at a gasthaus on a farm, and I get a cow photo series going that features two or three beautiful heifers as they eat along the driveway. They seem totally oblivious to me and I make sure not to get in their way as they move sometimes quickly between grassy spots.
Once again we enjoy the local house specialty featuring Tyrolian food – we have a beef and potato goulash topped with a fried egg and with grilled bratwurst on the side. Raye and I split these sorts of meals – we have learned they are big enough for two. Big glasses of water, no ice. These mountain regions dry you out very quickly so we have also learned to drink a lot of water during the day.
We stop in a small town on the way back that has a large ornate church. This is a special site to see, although churches are in every town regardless of size – and the church is always the tallest building in the town. Steeples are shaped either like an onion on a pole or in a narrow triangular shape with a ball at the top. Roofs are painted either red or green in Austria to indicate what regional church government it is under. In Italy, the roofs are painted black. All these churches are Catholic, which is clearly the dominant religion of the region.
The church’s graveyard is nearly as impressive as the building. Each gravesite is topped with a wrought iron marker standing at least four or five feet tall. These markers are all different but nearly each one features a figure of Jesus on the cross at the center. They are works of art, just like the wrought iron signs in the marketplaces. I wander through the yard and take many pictures – they are just too pretty.
We move inside the church to find beautifully painted walls, ceilings and altars of all kinds. These are reminiscent of large churches you might find in Rome. Candles are lit in front of altars. We stand quietly in the back and move around the worship area just to study the paintings and to take some pictures. The ends of pews are carved wood and the stone floors are laid in carefully planned mosaics. No detail is left unattended to here. I think of many of my Catholic friends and that they would truly appreciate this hall of worship.
Our ride home is as any other day, except this time it is the last. We gather early on the back porch to meet up with others for storytelling, and we all stay late after supper for more of the same. No one seems anxious to leave this idyllic setting, although talk turns to family and friends waiting for us at the next stop. Some are going on to other parts of Europe, but most of us are heading back to the states or home to Germany, where one of our companions is from. What can we take with us that will help us remember the way we feel this week?
iPod playlist: Sting, Styx, Tom Petty, Queen, Bruce Hornsby and the Range
Want to see more photos? Click on the set “Friday: Glacier Waterfalls and Churches” to see evidence of God’s hand in our lives and hearts.)
