We got to the airport around 6:15am, sheepishly returned the rental car and keys to the Hertz dropbox (maybe they won’t notice the scratches!) and then realized something we hadn’t counted on. This is Terminal One. We need to be at Terminal Two. And if you’ve been to Barcelona Airport you know how far away they are from each other. A shuttle bus was out of the question because of the bikes so we had no choice but to lock on our panniers and ride our way out of the parking structure and basically onto a pre-dawn freeway. I wasn’t quite prepared for the 5 mile unlit ride to Terminal 2 wearing flip flops and loose pants that kept catching on my bike gears, dodging taxi cabs and trying to keep balance with my very unevenly weighted panniers. (Our plan was to each carry on one pannier, and check another –the checked one containing liquids, our wrench, swiss army knives, and other potential weaponry). Somehow we made it to Terminal Two intact but stressed-out, and found our way to the Easy Jet check-in with a line already forming. Step 2 now involved a mechanical operation where we remove the pedals and the handlebars from the bikes but tie them flush with the frame with those amazing plastic zip-ties, let some air out of the tires and then wrap the whole bike in a plastic mattress cover and tape it closed. And according to the Easy Jet employees on the phone in the US– several employees, over several phone calls to confirm–that is a perfectly acceptable way to check in your bike. (This was essential because of course we can’t carry real actual bike bags with us on our trip. Too big, too heavy). Other than slicing my leg with the gears as I crawled into the giant plastic bag dragging the bike behind me, we managed this operation unscathed. Or I should say Gabriel managed the operation. He deftly earned his man-credit with the wrench while I kind of just handed him tools. And as a bonus we put on quite a spectacle for the sleepy people standing in line.

We finally joined the line, checked in (all good, no problem), and made it to our gate just in time. We dozed on the plane and landed in Geneva a little after 10am. Then we do the reverse operation at the baggage claim while normal cyclists grab their normal bike bags and jump into taxi-cabs. But now we’re excited because the adventure has begun and we zip out of the airport wearing helmets and bike shoes and set the GPS for our hotel. No signal. Not only that but you know, its an airport, so basically its all one-way feeder roads onto freeways. Not bike friendly at all. Fortunately, though, an angel in the form of an old Swiss man on a bike himself appeared (where in the world could he have been coming from? He materialized out of thin air) and kindly lead us toward the city center. He wasn’t one to slow his pace for us though, and now I had my 30 pounds on me (yes 30, we weighed the panniers when we checked them in) and I was panting to keep up. Not to mention we hadn’t eaten a bite and my throat was so parched I felt like I couldn’t swallow. We winded and twisted through back streets, a couple times slipping through closed gates — just open enough for a bike but barely enough for a bike carrying 2 bursting panniers. The old man and Gabriel were quite a bit ahead of me when I got stuck in one of those gates and they didn’t see that I had stopped. I felt like the girl in the horror movie who trips when she’s running from the monster and gets her foot caught on something. I finally got unstuck but by the time I got to the next intersection they were out of sight and I had no idea which way they’d gone. I didn’t have to wait long though before the old man came circling back for me and led me to a very relieved Gabriel. We continued our way to the city center where we parted ways with the old man and navigated ever increasing traffic –including riding through the interior of a train station– until we found our hotel.

We were so thirsty and famished that we immediately went to eat at the restaurant that was right next door, and that I had coincidently read in the airplane magazine served “the best burgers in Geneva.” Well if they do I’m sorry for Geneva cos they weren’t good. Anyway, it didn’t matter. We made it! We showered, we rested, we took a walk to the old part of the city. We argued over where to eat dinner cos neither of us had done any research on that (implictly my job, since he had planned everything else) and I had researched places to eat in other towns on our route, but had skipped over Geneva, thinking: Its Geneva, there must be tons of good restaurants. And there are, of course. But we did feel a little burned by our burger experience, and everything is ridiculously expensive here — so if you’re going to drop $200 on dinner you want to feel reasonably confident that it will be…okay. So to overcompensate for my guilt in this area I started getting bossy, which Gabriel called me on, and we both got mad. And now we’re mad and hungry and tired. But finally we found a place we agreed on, and it was good, and the stress of the day started to wear off.

Today, July 9th, we got up early and did a practice ride / mechanical check. We rode in a bike-friendly area: parks, bike lanes, around the massive UN compound. We passed UNICEF, the WHO, the World Meteorological Association, half a dozen embassies, and other major international headquarters that Geneva is all about. (That and the money hidden in the walls). I hadn’t been on my bike in about 2 weeks and it felt great. Gabriel was exuberant and called biking instructions back at me over his shoulder (hmmm. who’s bossy now?) like telling me to ride directly behind him which is fine on a flat road but when we get to the mountains—there’s no way I’m going to keep up with his pace. Also, we’ve done that before and once or twice he has stopped without warning causing me to crash into him which not only is not pretty, it really pisses me off. So we agreed that if he’s going to stop, he’ll wave his hand in the air, big and obvious. That will be our “Stop” signal. It was when we headed back over the bridge to the other side of the Rhone river when we really hit the Calcutta-style traffic. (Calcutta minus the farm animals, but plus electric trolleys and Rolex stores). There are actually alot of bikers in Geneva, and a pretty good amount of bike lanes, but also pedestrians crossing every which way, cars, the aforementioned electric trolleys and their accompanying rails (grooves) in the pavement that you definitely don’t want to get your bike wheels caught in, and even skateboarders. And no one is following traffic lights or any kind of rules of the road whatsoever. I pulled out my trusty whistle and kept it clenched between my teeth to alert pedestrians to jump out of my way or they were going to get mowed. That technique definitely helped cleared my path although I’m sure I seemed like some kind of deranged coach on the loose. Still, that was a Never Again ride for me. We were searching for our road that we’ll take tomorrow — finally out of the city, toward the Alps– so we’ll know where to go in the morning. And finally we found it, a very bike-friendly ride hugging Lake Geneva on our left. We took it a little ways until I noticed something with my bike had become not-as-it-should-be. Something to do with alignment. So we cut back to a bike repair place we had found yesterday and looking into Gabriel’s desperate, pleading eyes, the mechanic agreed yes, he could fix it TODAY so our trip wouldn’t be delayed. And they did. And we’re ready. Tomorrow we ride for real. Our destination is Thonon-Les-Bains. The bad news: the forecast is for rain. The good news: the ride will be pretty much flat. Do-able in wet circumstances, but we may have to break out our ridiculous looking ponchos which would be truly unfortunate.