The Descent

Leaving Slovenia for Austria, we go through an under-mountain tunnel which is 8km in length. That’s a mad long tunnel! I expect it to be freezing, as we dip low beneath the mountain but actually the deeper we go, the more intense the heat. I am reminded of a movie I watched as a child: Journey to the Centre of the Earth. I can feel my heart begin to race and the sweat trickle down my back and into my eyes. I’m desperate to get out of this heat but can’t even open the visor to let in some air because there are clouds of dust and dirt swirling around the tunnel and this is not a good time to get a speck in the eye! I try to keep myself calm by watching the metre signs on the wall which indicate which end we are closest to and begin to breath slightly easier when we are nearer our destination than our entrance point. Nevertheless, when the opening eventually emerges, I throw open the visor, gasping for air and keeping my eyes tight shut.

But the terror of the day has only just begun. We are heading for Zell am See, via the Grossglockner pass, which takes us almost 3000 metres above sea level. This is the highest we will have travelled and apparently the views and riding are spectacular. Whilst my zip lining experience with the kids and my once-upon-a-time best friend Joy Poots did a lot for my fear of heights, the phobia is still there. Maybe I’m getting tired, or GG is getting braver, or the roads really are more terrifying but having reached the pinnacle of the pass with little incident, the downward journey is nothing short of horrifying. Miles upon miles of steep road, dropping suddenly, no safety barriers to speak of, and twisting turns and sharp bends. And of course, we are not alone in this tourist trap so there are cyclists (poor feckers); other bikers on big three wheelers, small Vespas, and everything in between; couples in posh convertibles with their arms hanging out holding selfie sticks; tentative drivers in rented vehicles who stop at verges for homemade sandwiches; families and gangs of friends in camper vans of all sorts: old, retro, swanky, big! All slow drivers who are unpredictable and therefore dangerous. And finally, buses. And coaches. Tour guides. Big big vehicles which have no business on these tiny swerving roads but who have quite literally made it their business to be here and therefore behave as if they have far more right to be on the twisting, turning laneways than the rest of us.

All of these must be negotiated and managed; manipulated and side lined; appeased and anticipated. I am terrified.

It takes far longer to make the downward journey than it did to ascend and when we eventually reach the valley plateau, GGs arms are aching, and even he is relieved to see the end of the twisting path. I’m a quivering wreck, every muscle contracting in fear and the tension of the descent apparent in my contracted shoulder muscles and tight grip on the bike.

Our hotel isn’t far and we are both beginning to relax by the time we reach the Zell am See lakeside. It takes a while for us to get any attention at reception and when he finally appears, he is brusque, curt, unwelcoming. We later decide to forgive him when he suggests putting the bike in the barn as there is rain due overnight. Very thoughtful of him we decide and put aside all previous criticism. Later on, we observe people arriving for the hotels’ very fine restaurant. Mercs and BMWs abound along with sports cars of all kinds – mostly convertibles and all very expensive. That’s when we realise that the offer of the barn wasn’t made out of kindness but rather to hide the bike from the fine diners!!  Vengeance will be ours (on TripAdvisor!!!)