Six of us set out into a stiff wind toward Furka Pass, the others lingering at the support van. The wind had been strong all day, and now kicked up to 20 mph with gusts that would knock our bikes sideways. After a couple miles, Howie, Rick and I separated from the others and led up the climb. Furka Pass is an 18 km climb, 5.6% ave., with a couple steep (12%) ramps near the top. The wind whipped along the mountainside, sometimes with us, sometimes against us on the many switchbacks. When it was against us, we would have all we could do to keep the bike moving upward, and one wind chute across a small bridge had us leaning sideways and forward to stay upright. A couple times, one of us would stop to take a photo and the others would keep moving, meaning you had to pay the price of catching back on if you wanted to stop. The chocolate milk I had at the top of Nufenen seemed to have fortified my legs--they felt stronger on the afternoon climb than the morning climb.
We had an unspoken determination to get to the top first, and the specter of Markham bridging up from behind kept us hammering forward. Markham, a total force on a bike! At one point, we could see a cyclist on a switchback below, gaining on us. "Here comes Markham," observed Rick, and we kicked up the pace. A few minutes later, after studying the climber below, Howie determined that he did not belong to our group, and we settled back into a steady, sustainable rhythm. Rick pulled us up a devilishly steep section, and then stopped by an Andiamo support van waiting alongside the road. "Are we waiting?" I asked Howie. "No," replied Howie, and we pushed on. Near the top, we hit the clouds--or maybe it was dense fog, if there`s a difference. Visibility went down to 30 m, the road flattened and the wind hit us full frontal force. Howie led on for a km, me tucked in comfortably on his wheel, when suddenly he pulled sideways and stopped--right at the other Andiamo van waiting alongside the road. "Is this the top?" we asked. We could see nothing indicating a summit. Yes, it was the top!
Rick joined us a minute later and we quickly geared up for the descent. It was cold, windy, wet and very low visibility, and nobody wanted to wait for the others. The descent was freaky scary. Howie led, I trailed because I had a flashing rear light. Oncoming car lights appeared out of nowhere, the edge of the road was a foggy abyss, Rick, 50 ft. ahead of me, was a shadow appearing and disappearing in the fog. When I hit a bump, cloud water would jolt off my helmet into my face. Fingers were frozen to the break levers, and my bike shook with my own shivering. Oncoming cars were frequent, and I decided Howie had the most dangerous position in our little group. At one point, I pulled off to shake feeling back into my fingers and a dozen cars slowly drove by--they had been piling up behind me and I had no idea.
Somehow we got down--I don`t know the distance, but it was miles in the fog. Abruptly, we could see countryside again and then a few rays of sunshine, and Howie and Rick were a few hundred meters ahead. 4 golfers appeared, standing beside the road overlooking a steep slope and deep valley. I had to stop for this one.
"Where`s the green?" I asked, and they pointed to a groomed area on the next hilltop that looked at least 700 yds. away.
"Mountain golf!" they laughed.
"How many strokes does it take to get to the green?"
"Four." "Three." "Two." "Maybe one." They chimed in sequentially, and laughed heartily with each stroke reduction.
We had a short photo session, and then I headed on down the road to Andermatt for a 20 min. hot shower. Another day for the memory book..... It was only a 50 mile day, but as Rick observed, the hardest 50 miles we had ever ridden.
