The Swiss landscape is something to behold. It is something out of The Sound of Music. Manicured carpets of grass stretch wide along Zugersee (Lake Zug) and trees burst out of the earth in an array of colours, from lime to crimson to jade green. Today, a cycle was on the to-do list.
I am so grateful and glad to have made it here. I feel like it’s a secret, my own, that no one can take from me.
It’s cool this morning. The nearby church stands resolute, looking more concrete in time than the mountains that border the lake.
I should have spent more time writing.
After another morning of orange juice and croissants, we decided to take a cycle along a portion of the lake. We set off at 2 pm Cham, first heading to a nearby bike store in order to pump the tyres of my bike. We had tried to make an earlier mission, but the bicycle stores were closed. No matter, it was cooler now anyway.
I was still anxious about cycling on town roads, but Marc swerved effortlessly between the cycle paths and cars. I followed his lead. We passed under the railway track and set off on a gravel road that ran alongside the track. It took no more than five minutes and we were away from the houses and entered the farming region.
We trailed along the farmlands like shoelaces through a field. I was in constant awe of the landscape. Cute maize crops cut through the grass, and sunflowers blessed the top of the door frames of almost every farmhouse we passed. Cowbells jingled as they grazed on the evergreen grass, content. Every window had flowers spilling from its sill in all colours of the rainbow.
The road continues to roll out along the coast of Zugersee. We pushed on until we came to a town a few stops over.
The silence was deafening. All I could hear was the spinning of our spokes and the occasional crunch of gravel as our bikes carved across the soft Swiss landscape. It is a country that is soft on your eyes and soft on your skin, although the sun did brush its lips over mine.
Gazing out over Zugersee, Cham, on a cloudy day.
We continued to swing past cowbells and churches that chimed in unison. The occasional tractor growled past, pushing its mechanic form up the slopes. Towers of miggies circled randomly, bombarding the unsuspecting cyclist.
We began to climb and my legs began to burn. Soon we were immersed in a forest. The transition took place quickly: from fields to farmland to forest. Here the trees towered forty metres above us, spearing into the sky. Marc told me stories of his wild youth spent building tree houses in the forest. It sounded idyllic.
I am sure I looked stupefied with awe.
A little church in the small town of Risch.
The fields that lay unplanted were cushioned with pretty white and yellow flowers. I fought the urge to dismount and roll about in the flora. It was time to circle back. We reached the small town of Risch, stopping only briefly to look at a church and admire the view. Then we took the highway home, stopping at a store to buy ice cream when the familiar steeple near Marc’s house pushed through the trees.
When we stopped I inhaled deeply, trying to soak it all in. The air is crisp and clear, save the edge of fresh cut grass that stuck sweetly to my palette. I sigh. A day well spent.
