Mulhouse to Lake Como (378 miles)

In front of me is a wall of mountains. I am travelling past Bern to Interlaken & the Alps dominant the horizon. Travelling from France into Switzerland – by this route anyway - is not such a contrast as the Alpine landscapes have gradually been taking over as I travelled through eastern France. But there is a different feel. The Swiss have a quiet orderliness about them giving you the impression everything is in the right place – or if it isn’t it will be very shortly. Logs cut & stacked in precisely equal lengths, everything spotless (even the cattle!) & a road network second to none which makes no concessions to them mountains. If you ever find yourself in a POW camp, before you start tunnel 1 (that’s Tom), check there isn’t a Swiss man on site. These people know about tunnels. But just when you think the Swiss have everything covered you hit the first of the passes – Grimsel. Enter the German storm trooper bikers. Large ruddy faced bearded fellas with open faced helmets, fat bikes & fatter waistlines. Not 1 or 2. Hundreds of them sliding their lederhosens on hairpin bends whilst overtaking elderly Swiss couples in deerstalker hats. Meanwhile, I’m trying not to get sensory overload as hairpin number 83 catches me out as I strain to see if that was a buzzard or a red kite. By the time I got to the next pass of the day (Simplon) I am cornered out & stop for more coffee (good but France has the market covered). Bike has been skipping & growling happily content in the knowledge that I am not worthy. For me, the contrast is much greater when you enter Italy. In a word, it’s chaotic. By the time I got off the Milan road & into downtown Como I had been through endless roadwork’s, diversions, near misses & new levels of random driving (it’s probably more evident due to contrast with the Swiss). The landscape is similar but the people couldn’t be more different. Roll into the hotel late as my satnav said no.