J&I had allowed just one day to get over jet lag while exploring Roger Federer’s birthplace (ironically, it was the day RF was defeated in the French Open semis by Nadal) while we awaited the late-evening arrival of A, our cycling companion.

The previous day, during our evening walk beside the Rhine, we’d chatted with a local on the river bank, where he’d gone to smoke a CBD cigarette after work (learning that we were Canadian, he’d waxed enthusiastic about our “wheat stocks.” At first we thought this was a Swiss variant on barley soup, made with Canadian Red Fife; in fact the young man was a budding investor in our marijuana industry: his “wheat” had been “weed.”)

 

 

We’d selected a few of his Basel suggestions to check out: Basel Minster, the famous twin-spire church; Basel’s beautiful town hall; the “Middle Bridge” across the Rhine; and the Tinguely Museum. As residents of the Hostel, all bus and tram rides were free during our stay, and museum admissions were half price.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Tinguely Museum was a highlight (there’s also a Tinguely fountain in downtown Basel, reminiscent of the one at the Pompidou Centre in Paris). The Museum is on the far side of the Rhine, a bit upstream from the Hostel. It’s filled with dozens of Tinguely’s amazing machines, all of them lovingly restored and maintained. In front of many of them are foot-activated switches, which, when pressed, set the pieces into noisy motion: whirring, spinning, clanking, clattering, and hiccuping metallically.

 

 

To prevent over-use and prolong the lives of these marvelous machines, the switches are programmed to activate only periodically: between once every 6 minutes to once an hour. At one room-sized piece, a small boy waited patiently with his mother, getting up every minute or so to rush over to the switch and try again.

Throughout the day we’d been checking out pastry shops and cafés, before finally settling on one across from the Tinguely Museum.

 

At end of day, after a modest meal at the Hostel (we’ll spare you the photos) J&I waited in the Hostel’s lobby, exchanging emails with A, whose flight had been delayed. Picture the scene, if you can: A emerging from the darkness and light rain, just before the Hostel deadline; a brief reunion as A checks in; the three of us sitting, making hasty plans for an early morning departure, while A enjoys his dinner: Pringle’s and a beer.

Friend and neighbor D arrives at 10 as promised to accompany us to the airport with our bikes, returning later with our car (merci beaucoup D!) On the drive we talk about travel: Japan by bike, and backpacking in India in the 1970s and 80s.

Transporting the bikes to YVR was rather ad hoc, since I’d forgotten how much the preparations for air travel changes the bikes: our rack was not designed to accommodate a bike whose handlebar has been taped to the top tube; but we managed.

 

Air Canada YVR provides heavyweight plastic bags, which we will keep (since I know from previous trips that Air Canada check in at Paris CDG will almost certainly not have such bags). Fingers were crossed as we handed the bagged bikes over to airport staff for “special handling.” You always imagine the worst: your precious bikes tossed carelessly onto conveyor belts as soon as you’ve turned your backs; jammed forcefully into cargo holds; arriving (if at all) with spokes broken; front forks bent; etc.

But all appears well as they finally emerge from the bowels of Basel airport. It takes about 50 minutes to reconstitute the bikes with wrench and Allen keys: plastic bags removed and folded; protective cardboard bits and duct tape removed; pedals reattached; handlebar realigned; seat raised; tires reinflated.

With panniers and handlebar bags mounted we exit the airport into light rain, and locate our bus (#50) which we take to the Basel train station. From there it’s just a short ride to the Basel Youth Hostel, where we’ll be for two nights. Checking in, we raise the average age of the residents by about a decade.

 

It’s in a great location, quiet and central. A small stream runs past the entrance, you cross a bridge to check in. The bikes are locked away for now in their basement bike room; we’ll explore Basel on foot. Our room is on the second floor, with a balcony overlooking the stream, and (bonus!) a private bathroom (I’d braced myself as we walked past the shared showers: rather grim cells opening directly onto the hallway). Jet lagged, we hit the sack early after a simple meal at the hostel cafeteria and a walk to the banks of the Rhine.

 

Outside our room the halls of the hostel echo late into the evening; “Ah, the exuberance of youth!“ we say benevolently, reaching for earplugs.

The Saturday before our departure J&I did a full “dress rehearsal“ ride: a dry run in the Seymour Demonstration Forest, our bicycles fully loaded with all our gear.

It’s a spectacular setting, a smooth, paved road that runs all the way to Seymour Dam, shaded by tall fir and cedars. We parked 2 km before the parking lot, which made it a 27 km round trip. I don’t know why we don’t cycle there more often (one possible explanation: no cafés!)

It’s green and peaceful, no cars in sight, just the breeze though trees, with clusters of walkers and other cyclists, all outdoors enjoying a sunny day.

The highlight was a bear encounter, about 4 km from the endpoint. We’d been warned about the bear by a returning cyclist, and could have turned around. But he was easily visible from a distance, so we could watch—the bear, and other cyclists—from safety while we decided what to do ourselves. The bear seemed quite content to munch on roadside grasses in the sun, and completely ignored all those who were brave (or foolish?) enough to pedal past.

We’ve done very little preparation for this trip: M rides a couple of time a week in the warmer seasons; J hasn’t ridden seriously in several years. And god knows how much riding A has been able to squeeze in as he wraps up his distinguished career in academia! But M believes in “training as you go,” so all should be well.

As our departure date drew closer, though, J&I decided that a bit of training might not be all bad. Above you see a photo from a 40 km ride in Coquitlam, along the Traboulay PoCo Trail. And below are a few photos from an overnight trip to Victoria, along the wonderful Lochside Trail.