I made sure I knew the topography of Lake Geneva by checking routes in a couple of cycling apps, and planned our ride accordingly. A long one, because the route along the lake is very flat. However, I did not account for everything being geared to the US, so instead of the world famous lake, what I in fact looked at was some obscure thing in north America.

The south shore of Lake Geneva proper is unflat. And as is entirely predictable, the wind is strongly in our faces when we set off. After a couple of miles of bike paths right beside the water, the route winds up and away from the lake on a main road, so we don’t see a lot.

We pass a pharmacy with a digital sign showing the temperature at 36 degrees. It is baking hot well into the evening, and after putting the tent up we nestle away from our pitch under some trees until late. Our moods are lifted when a German family staying in a cabin next door bring us over cups of coffee as we’re cooking dinner. I discover that some of my stuff-sacks have a strange black substance on them, and after digging around in the pannier I find that the coating on a sunglasses case has melted and spread over everything.

The start of the second day hugs the shore of the lake, but the road is very narrow and it’s not safe to look around much. We can see snow-covered mountains to the east though, so we do get our fill of good scenery for the morning.

We’re in France again for a final fling, and on a fast descent I shout out “Cédez-le-passage motherfuckers” but hope that no one actually hears me.

We turn south before the end of the lake, and make such good ground that we decide to go on rather than stop at our intended spot. We plot a course for the next option, but we arrive there an hour before it opens and we go on again. We have some wonderful views of the Bernese and Chablais Alps, and there are fresh water taps and springs to keep me going. The free water doesn’t make up for how expensive everything is in Switzerland, but it’s nice not to have to worry about running out in this weather. It’s only towards the last few miles that I feel the effects of such a long day.

The woman at the camp reception tells us to peg the tent in well, as they’re expecting strong winds and a lot of rain. The wind is unbelievable. We get the tent up efficiently because we’re so practised at it, but the force of the wind blows my fully-laden bike over. We cook partly sheltered by the tent and a tree, and just get done before the rain comes. It’s not a comfortable night, but it does mean that the heat breaks a little.

We’re deep in Valais Canton now, and the temperature is cool enough that I can just about wear the same t-shirt twice for the following days.

I check the status of the mountain passes in Switzerland (alpen-paesse.ch if you ever need it) and the two we might cross have just re-opened after the winter. The first week of June is bang on for their standard annual opening dates.

After some discussion, Richard has all but ruled out Furka Pass, which is the summit of the largest mountain we will come across here. I think that left to my own devices I would want to attempt it, with the contingency of heading back the same way if it’s not manageable. But this is a two yesses/one no situation, and there is another pass just further on. Still strenuous, but within our capacity, so I’m content with that.

Another long day through Valais, and it is absolutely staggering for the first half, with clear views of the Alpine ranges, and the Rhone river a shade of blue that does not seem real. The snow melt from the mountains creates waterfalls in the distance, and the paved bike route is away from any road and blissfully quiet. The afternoon is a bit more of a grind, as many of the towns are ugly, despite the backdrop, and there are roadworks everywhere.

It’s a surprisingly tiring day. The climbing is not steep, but it’s uphill all day long and the heat builds again.

We stop for lunch on the edge of a fountain, the only shade we’ve found for ages. A German cyclist pulls up not long after, and asks if she can sit with us. She has a couple of panniers, but says she’s travelling very light to get through Switzerland. She smiles and laughs even when saying she’s had a pretty traumatic couple of days. A person who is happy at life regardless of its problems; the antithesis of us. She climbed Furka Pass a couple of days ago. She describes how hard it was, that it brought her to tears. She tells us how she was caught in a rockfall, following a small avalanche near the top. She was very lucky, she says. A large rock just missed her, but hit her rear wheel, bending the rim and causing her tyre to explode. Her phone was also knocked loose and smashed. As she continues to describe five feet of snow at the side of the road, and how there was no visibility due to the fog, I see the chances of getting Richard riding up there completely disappear.

I can’t help asking him when we ride off if he’s now been convinced to climb Furka. He does laugh, to be fair, and adds that “She is much younger, on a lightweight bike, carrying hardly anything, and she said it was shit.” She did indeed say “It was shit.”

She also tells us there’ll be rain this afternoon, so we better get on and get pitched up. She adds that the rain this time of year here is very unusual, but we’re accustomed to that now.

We arrive at camp and are just about to set up, when a man walks over and starts chatting in French too fast for me to understand. He motions me to follow, and a short walk away shows me that we can camp around a pretty lake.

We again only just get the tent up and food cooked before more heavy rains.

The next morning is a leisurely start while the tent dries off. I send Richard off to fix my rear light. It’s something I can do myself, but it’s a luxury to have him busy rather than grumbling and pacing in irritation at the extra things I do and he doesn’t when he’s impatient to set off. Stretches for my back, putting on sun cream and chamois cream, plaiting my hair, filling my water bottles. He also now has the job of inspecting hats and gloves at the start of the day, after an earwig was found hiding in the lining of my cap.

We’ve cottoned on to the discount supermarket here (Denner) so a daily shop can cost less than £50 now, and we go out of our way to find one at the start of the day. The cashier is pointing and telling me something about bananas, and I stand stupidly until my brain catches up to her speaking German and not French. I go and weigh my bananas before they get taken off me.

The highlight of the day is taking a detour to visit the old village of Niedergesteln, which dates back to the high middle ages. It is replete with old wooden haylofts (still in use,) agricultural artifacts, a museum and a castle made from tuff stone – lithified volcanic ash.

We’re camped that night on a sports complex. The rain this time starts at 3pm and is not stopping. We are at the far end of the site, not near anything, and we wait it out in the tent until 7pm before deciding that we need to go and get something to eat. Otherwise all we have is half a baguette and some cheese. 

We have already agreed that we will get a train through the mountain of the Furka Pass, and then cycle the Oberalp pass after that. I get tetchy with Richard, because now he is not wanting to do that either, but relents in the face of my increasing frustration, and then explanation of the distance and gradients, and the fact there is a lighthouse at the top which piques his interest.

We’re up just before 5am to get the train and cycle Oberalp the same day, assuming it’s going to take us ages. The train tunnel is 20 miles long. On the other side, the weather is awful. It’s raining heavily and there is low, thick fog. We cannot see anywhere near the top of the mountain, but what we can see is covered with snow and I have no regrets.

At the station, it is so cold that I put tights and thicker socks on, and we set off. The climb starts immediately. I always struggle when there’s no warm-up, so have a rough time of it for the fist few kilometres. The rain is steady but light now, and the fog occasionally clears so we get views of the valley we’re climbing out of and the snow-capped peaks we’re heading towards.

I take pride in the fact that we’re the only luggage-laden cyclists on the mountain, and those that pass us are groups on road bikes, or people on electric bikes.

At the end of the switchback part of the climb, the nice scenery is marred by a huge crane and lots of roadworks. There’s a one-way traffic light system, which for me going up a mountain pass, doesn’t give enough time until the lights turn green the other way, and I’m almost bursting my lungs to go faster through the section.

The climb is now on a straight road and not as steep, but as we reach it we’re hit head-on by the wind. It’s so predictable, and so awful I could almost laugh. The sun is out, so I am internally boiling up, but the wind is blowing freezing snow into my face. It is one of the closest things to torture on a bike I’ve experienced, and we’re crawling along at an excruciating pace. We pass beside a peak, with huge patches of snow beside us, and it is beautiful enough to distract me until it’s almost done. There’s then a glorious flat run through a tunnel, and little hill to the summit.

Richard’s first words when we reach the top? “There’s a station. We could have got the train.”

After I give a good, long, stink-eye stare, we go for a coffee, and then spend some time at the lighthouse. It’s a replica of the one at the mouth of the Rhine, here at the top near the source.

The downhill is spectacular, and worth everything a million times over. There’s a guy with panniers about 3/4 of the way to the top, stopped at the corner of a steep hairpin bend with his head in his hands. Hard as our morning was, it seems much steeper the other way and I feel for him.

It’s the longest and most spectacular descent I’ve ever done. Even after the mountain proper, the road continues to roll down for miles.

The campsite setting at the end of the day sits in the shadow of the Glarus Alps, and for the first time in days we can sit outside and enjoy the views and the sunset without the threat of rain.

Our final day of climbing takes us up through the Romansh-speaking region, and gorgeous rural villages, then culminates with amazing views of the Rhine gorge. The climb itself is really enjoyable. As it gets steeper, we drop some road cyclists and claim the pair of logs to sit on at the top.

The descent, with more views of the dramatic canyon, is today’s bounty. There’s an arsehole of a steep hill at the end of the day, and we’re tired, but satisfied that the tough stuff is now over.

We’re crammed in at another sports centre field that evening, because there’s a shooting event on over the weekend. The gunfire is continuous until dark, but we count ourselves lucky to have got a spot here, as the space becomes ever more crowded.

Our penultimate Swiss ride was supposed to be our reward day. We plan a big distance because it’s all either flat or downhill. This is also the day we go to Liechtenstein, which was one of the targets on our way across Europe. It’s nice to see it, but my god it’s an awful ride. The headwind makes this day worse than crossing the alps, and my legs are jelly when we arrive at camp. It’s a lovely spot though, beside a lake and with only 3 pitches. The lake is a recreational spot for swimming, and we’re given access to that as part of camping there. It’s still by far the cheapest place we camp in Switzerland, so we make up for that by having a couple of beers at the cafe. When all the day trippers have left, it’s incredibly peaceful and we have the longest night’s sleep in ages. 

We leave Switzerland near the start of the following day, so to get rid of our Francs Richard buys a 500ml bottle of coke for £4.

We give ourselves an easy day to the German part of Lake Konstanz. It’s amazing how our fitness, and therefore perspective, has changed that 3 hours of cycling is now considered a mini day.

Crossing into Germany is like a celebration, with the Swiss Alps now ticked off. We’ll head north for the Danube to cycle some sections we haven’t done before, and a couple we have. We’re hoping the beer, food and easy terrain should give us some recuperation time before we head for more mountains.

A playlist for the ride: