The paths of glory

Although I received a bike for my fourth birthday, I don't think that I really got the training wheels off of it until I was at least six, or maybe even seven. After school, my best friend, Ralph, and I would often bike down to the baseball fields, or the dirt bike track, or Burger King, but we never really went further than about a mile or so. Most of this was due to San Diego's unique geography: it is virtually impossible to travel more than a mile from my house without hitting a canyon. And, although I enjoyed riding my bike to school in 5th and 6th grade (not more than a mile), I had to be driven to Junior High School, as it was roughly five miles, two freeways, and two or three serious canyons away. Thus, I pretty much gave up on bike riding when I was about 11. I sort of picked it up again at Stanford, as biking in to school saved me from having to buy a parking permit once I lived off-campus, but again, I never really biked more than maybe two or three miles at any given time. I think that it is safe to say that up to this point in my life, although I have ridden a bicycle frequently, I have never gone on a bike ride of more than a couple miles.

My office-mate, Jens, recently purchased a new road bike. Itching to try it out, he and Marc -- another lab-mate -- decided to go for a ride this weekend. As I happened to be in the office while they were discussing their plans, they were polite enough to ask me if I wanted to come along. I told them, thanks, but that I didn't have a bike. No problem, Marc said, I could borrow one from him. As all I had to look forward to this weekend was assembling Ikea furniture and since I am a colossal idiot, I figured, "what the hell!"

Right from the get-go, I was worried about what was in store. You see, Marc is one of those guys. You know, one of those really active guys: bikes into work, goes running in the evenings, and, oh yeah, was on the frigging Swiss Olympic rowing team. Although he assured me that it would be a leisurely tour and that the focus would not be on speed but rather "cycle tourism," I had a pretty good idea that the two of us had very different ideas on what exactly constituted "leisure." Anyway, Marc promised that there other riders of varying skill and that I would fit right in. Marc gave me a vague description of the route, and we agreed to meet at the boat terminal at Ouchy, Sunday morning at 9:25 AM.

We took the 9:25 ferry from Ouchy to Evian-les-bains (yes, that Evian), and from there, we were going to bike into the Vallée d'Abondance, over some sort of pass, then down into Switzerland. I was never too clear on the details (or length) of our trip, but I was assured that it wouldn't be too steep and that we would certainly make it to the top in, "no more than three, three and a half hours." I met the remaining two members of our team on the ferry to Evian.

Fig. 1: From left to right: Jakob, Jens, Mark, and Marc. Three of these people have competed in international sporting events around the world. Also, you can tell that they are serious by the fact that they are all wearing silly pants.

Here is a picture I took of our group. As Marc promised, we were all riders of varying skill. Marc, Mark, and Jakob are all former world-class rowers who still train regularly (Mark and Jakob trained five times a week), Jens is an amateur cycling enthusiast, and I am a lazy, out-of-shape bum who has never been on a real bike ride before. The variety of skill levels was staggering.

I could regale you with a detailed description of the various misadventures that occured during the trip, but I think a brief summary will suffice.

My bike was too small. This meant that I couldn't fully extend my legs when I peddled, which meant I was less than optimally efficient and also that the handle bars were too close, which meant that I had to hunch over awkwardly to hold them. This, of course, put a lot of pressure on my arms, which really started to hurt by the end of the ride. Of course, it's hard to notice the pain in your arms when your legs are on fire, so I really only felt my arms when I wasn't going uphill. Most painful, though, was the seat. Clearly designed to be used by a eunuch wearing padded bicycling shorts, it put an immense amount of pressure on my entire "under carriage." It's almost two days later, and my butt is still sore.

As for the trip, well, it turned out to be a touch longer than I expected. Based on the Google maps estimate, we went roughly 80 km, which is, oh, about 75 km further than I have ever gone on a bike before. Of course, it wasn't a flat 80 km: we went over the "Pas de Morgins," on the French/Swiss border. Although a truly lovely place, I probably would have declined to go on the trip had I known that it had been featured before in the Tour de France. Three times. As a Category 1 climb (that's the second highest category, behind "Haut Catégorie").

Other than a brief stretch during the more than 1000 m ascent during which I had to walk the bike, I managed to make it through the day largely OK. I have to admit that the downhill portion was truly exhilarating (don't worry Mom, I wore a helmet) and following the Rhone (which is nearly level) was beautiful and enjoyable. I didn't get a chance to take a lot of pictures, but here are a few to tide you over.

Fig. 2: In French, the last rider in the group is called the "voiture balai," or the "broom car." I prefer the term "caboose."

Fig. 3: The Swiss Alps, I think. Maybe the pre-Alps.

We arrived in Montreux just in time to catch the 5:10 ferry back to Lausanne. Thankfully, we found (super comfortable) seats in the dining area and were able to enjoy a traditional meal of beer and paprika potato chips on the ride back. As there was no fog on the lake, but still some low hanging clouds, the sunset was absolutely incredible.

Fig. 4: Ladies, if you click on the picture it will load a full-size version which can be printed as large as 8"x10".

Once we made it back to Ouchy, I still had about 3 or 4 km to ride, entirely uphill, back to my apartment. I probably would have made it, except for the fact that it was so excruciatingly painful to sit on the seat that I had to stand up the entire time. I made it about half way and then walked the bike from there. I figure I earned it.

*****

Soon: more pictures of my apartment, which actually has some assembled (and unassembled) furniture in it.

No one wants to see your pictures of Château Chillon

Since it is unlikely that you (dear reader) are a professional photographer, allow me to give you some photographic advice: no one wants to see your pictures.

OK, that's not entirely true, but trust me, it's true of most of your pictures. Let me rephrase: no one wants to see your pictures unless there's someone or something they love in them.

This, I claim, is almost universally true. Certainly, somewhere in those gigabytes of photos is an artistic, wonderfully captured gem, but odds are that most of them are boring photos of buildings, trees, and fuzzy landmarks. This is especially true of vacation photos. Do not take a picture of the street your hotel is on. Do not take a picture of your hotel from the outside. Do not take a picture of the corridor your room is on. Do not take a picture of the entrance way, the bathroom, the bedroom, and the view out the window. The only thing these photos will do is bore everyone to whom you show them and or provide a chain of evidence for the police to recreate your last known whereabouts.

Obviously, the solution to this problem is to include your beloved friends and family in every single shot possible and in every conceivable way. That impossibly tiny bathroom will look even tinier with all your friends crammed inside, and that lovely view from the window will make a nice desktop wallpaper if a dozing loved one is in the corner. As for those blurry shots of the Birth of Venus, the Eiffel Tower at night, and Cellini's Perseus; well, just let them go. Buy a postcard if it was really that beautiful.

All of this can be especially difficult to do if you're traveling by yourself, but being creative and waiting for a good shot will usually produce worthwhile results. That said, I went to Château Chillon and Montreux the weekend before last and took some pictures.

Fig 1: Courtyard, Château Chillon.

Château Chillon is famous not only for being a truly badass castle (parts date from the 12th Century) but also for inspiring a famous poem by Lord Byron. Interestingly enough, Byron apparently had about as much respect for the 12th century masonry as your average wannabe gangsta has for a freeway overpass and thus felt free to carve his name into one of the columns -- something which only like a million people have done since. Fortunately for literature and vandalism enthusiasts, his mark is well preserved.

Fig. 2: Lord Byron wuz here.

Just for team D&D, here's a picture of a display inside the castle of the various types of pole-arms available. Without consulting your manuals, how many names can you come up with? What sort of damage do they do against medium and large creatures? Do you feel any sense of shame in knowing this?

Fig. 3: Halberds, glaives, guisarmes, glaive-guisarmes, etc.

A brief walk from the castle is the picturesque, over-priced resort town of Montreux. A bit of totally true history regarding Montreux, regarding the hideously ugly new Casino on the waterfront, from The Rough Guide to Switzerland:

[It] replaced the grand original, which opened in 1883 and was burned to the ground on December 4, 1971, during a concert by Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention. During the show, someone let off a rocket-flare, which set the ceiling on fire; everyone got out without injury, but the building continued to burn all night. Ian Gillan, lead singer of the band Deep Purple, who were holed up in a hotel nearby, watched the flames leaping into the sky and was thus inspired to write his seminal rock classic "Smoke On The Water."

Most importantly, though, Montreux was the home for many years of one of the greatest musicians of our time. The writer of "Theme to Flash Gordon," "Fat Bottom Girls," and many other hits, ladies and gentlemen, I give you the one and only Farrokh Bulsara, a.k.a. Freddie Mercury!

Fig. 4: F. Mercury et al.

A legend in Montreux, Freddie liked the town so much that he bought a recording studio and a house there, where he enjoyed the "kindness and discretion of the townspeople," according to the statue. September 5 and 6 of this year are "Freddie Mercury Montreux Memorial Day" and will feature symposia, fashion shows, cover bands, a cappella cover bands, and tons more, so book your tickets now.

All in all, Chateau Chillon and Montreux are certainly worth a day trip from Lausanne. Just remember to bring your camera!

Future updates: pictures of my current residence (I need to take them during the day to really capture the ambiance, but I've been busy lately), complaints about Swiss business hours (short summary: no one works around here), and who knows what else. Probably more complaints.