Day 12 { june 6th 2002 }
“Duo becomes trio”
My journey takes me closer to the origins of the Rhine. The Alps dominate the skyline and are jaw-dropping impressive. At the end of the day, I run into people who will pay a huge contribution to the succes of my whole undertaking.
The sun caresses my tent when I wake up around 8. I hear the waves rolling against the concrete ramp and the whistling of the leaves above my tent. I stick my sleepy head outside. The sky is no longer overcast. Instead, a pale blue ceiling. It’s a bit nippy and windy though. Hmm...guess that will change later on.
My tent dries fast and in no time I hit the asphalt. Some lovely croissants, which are bought 20 minutes later just outside Arbon, have to satisfy my tummy this morning. No problem!
“Just keep your head level”
Rorsach and St. Margarethen are quickly left behind. In the small city of Au,
I want to withdraw some cash at a bank.
And then, something happens which, well, to put it mildly, worries me.
My cash-card is ‘swallowed’ by
the machine! “Consult your own bank”, the display indicates.
I stare at the screen. Dumbstruck. What?.
This can’t be happening. I pull myself together and decide to take it easy and wait untill the bank opens it’s doors.
IN ABOUT ONE HOUR.
But hey, it’s close to 30 degrees, it’s around 12 o’clock and I need a break anyway.
20 Minutes later, an employee retrieves my card from the machine. Everything seems to work out fine.
Just keep your head level (ahum).
“...that I get closer to the origins of the Rhine”
The Alps dominate the skyline whilst on my way to Oberriet. Like giant majestic guards, they fill the sky in a way I
have never seen before. An awesome sight. Makes me feel humble and insignificant.
And they are so close this time. “Don't worry, I will get past you. Chanti chanti”.
It dawns upon me that I get closer and closer to the origins of the Rhein. According to my map, after having crossed the
Rhein at Oberriet, I have two options. Either cycling to Feldkirch, or just follow the Rhein.
The latter is the most appealing. Just one, long flat track for miles and miles, on top of a dike.
“...it’s another world up there, another level”
The view is spectacular. Mountaintops and walls of stone enclose the Rhein. I cycle upstream, ever closer towards my biggest challenge.
Will it be my Waterloo?
Hours pass by. To my amazement, some defensive positions (bunkers) are spotted, build into the vertical mountainwalls.
I pass Lichtenstein as well, well, just touching it’s border.
To my right, on the other side of the Rhein, high up in the mountains, I discover some villages bathing in sunshine,
enclosed by grassy fields and woods. It’s another world up there, another level. Totally out of reach.
I just can’t grasp the moment.
“...where some customers keep staring at me”
The nippy wind works in a soothing way and combined with an increasingly grey sky, it wears me out rapidly.
I decide to call it a day, the sky starts to look unfriendly. The mountains are real ‘raincloud traps’.
Bad Ragaz is the place were I will stay the night. The camping is difficult to track and I end up downtown.
After a hearty dinner in a local restaurant (were some customers keep staring at me) I continue searching.
The camping is well hidden in the woods, but appears to be an excellent one. Especially the sanitary facilities.
Brand new and of an excellent design.
“Just one of those gut
feelings I have”
The place were I pitch my tent has a sort of plateaus, dug out inbetween the trees en bushes. While stitting at a large wooden table
where I have dinner and write down my experiences of that day, a man approaches. A Dutchman.
He inquires after my plans and comes to the conclusion that we are following the same route and have the same destination. Rick and
his wife Bianca want to cross the Alps at Splügen tomorrow. I could not suspect then that these great people would be
terrific travel companion well into Italy.
That evening, we exchange our experiences and somewhere along the line, I have the feeling that we will get along well.
Just one of those gut feelings.
