We didn´t even have to go through Grenoble, but a friend of Sylvain's is
a bike mechanic and he can help out with some questions, so we finally decided
to spend the night here. But what was to be just one night turns into a week.
I´ve been having problems with my knees for kilometers and with the climb to
the Vercors, they eventually give up.The pain is intense and I can hardly
walk.. We rest a couple of days with the hope that things will magically
improve but the miracle does not happen this time. So we have to resort to that which is paid in
the hope of not having to use it: we took out medical insurance before leaving.
After a bit of running around, it eventually works fast and the next day. first
thing in the morning we have an appointment with the doctor. After a brief
exploration I am diagnosed with what he tells me half of the skiers who go to
his surgery in winter: condromalacy or
rotulian syndrome. In medical terms it means an inflammation of the
cartilage beneath the kneecap. In layman's terms, it's a knee pain of unknown
origin and of uncertain cure. The x-rays that are taken the same afternoon
confirm that it is nothing serious, but the doctor recommends that I begin
physical therapy immediately. The problem is to decide who pays for it. It's
Friday and until Monday Mapfre doctors will not issue the verdict. Meanwhile, a
lot of Voltaren (which, of course, does nothing). In the house where we are
staying they say and repeat that we can stay there as long as needed, but the
doctor has said that I´ll need at least 20 sessions of physical therapy so
things don´t look good. Days pass and the pain Increases. When we are told how
the insurance works, Gabriel's (our host) girlfriend, recommends that we leave
aside conventional medicine and visit a
friend of hers, an osteopath, who lives in her village. With nothing to lose,
we take the bus and within an hour the miracle man is relocating both joints.
After a comprehensive inspection of body posture, he realizes that the problem
Is that I have deviated the meniscus, so he twists both knees until relocated.
Sounds painful. It is. But as the pain ceases after the aggressive treatment,
the left knee is completely healed and the right will take a few days to be in
perfect condition. Also, being friends Salome does not charge me for the
appointment. One more angel to add to the list of wonderful people we meet
along the way.
We let my knees rest one more day and on Sunday, we start off in a good
storm. I feel so strong that we decide to cross into Switzerland through the
Alps, through Chamonix.. We want to dedicate the route to our companions from
“Slow Ciclando” who had to change their route to protect Alessandra´s knees..
In addition, choosing this direction we can go to visit Maki, Sylvain´s
wife, who is spending a few days in Mègeve
to help open a new Japanese restaurant.
When we were in Grenoble we spent a long time checking out routes, maps
and information to plan the best option, trying to pamper my knees and at the
same time enjoy the climb. But these days, two French words are burned into our
memories: Route Barrée, which means road closed. Oh, friends! It's summer and
that means reasphalting. Finally, we do nothing more than 5% of what we had
planned, climbing impossible mountain passes, disastrous roads, excessive
slopes. What I still do not understand is how we like to suffer so much.
On the way, we stop at mountain shops (around here there are a few)
seeking a liquid for waterproofing the tent, that lately even though it doesn´t
leak, puddles form on the ground. Poor
us, we didn´t know what was awaiting us. After Chamonix, we find a fantastic
place for camping in a forest with a green path a view of Mont Blanc, showing
all its beauty shamelessly on a completely clear day. We take advantage of the
good afternoon to waterproof everything we can from the store. The label on the
product says it's organic, but that does not mean it's not toxic. At night, the
first symptoms begin. Gabi has a tummy ache and slight nausea. But I get
straight to the point and start to vomit, which will continue throughout the morning of the next day. My body does not even admit
water, and we still have two mountain passes ahead,1,500 meters each, to cross
into Switzerland.
At noon I drag the bike as best I can to the next town and try to
hitchhike. Half an hour later without anybody having taken pity on us, we
decide to go a little more and try our luck at the edge of town, but just move
a few meters when the occupants of a van shout at us from a gas station.
They're half crazy Poles who have seen us down below asking for help, and now
they offer to take us to Poland itself. For a moment we think about accepting
the offer, but we agree to let them leave us in Switzerland. They tell us that
they are going to stop in Lausanne, which is since we are expected in Vevey, a
few kilometers from the city. We pass it, but we think the Poles are looking
for a motorway exit. They find it, but continue on, so we start to see signs to Freiburg, where they would
supposedly stop also, we tell them to leave us off anywhere, we are already 40
kilometers from where we should be.
At last we agree and retrace our steps by bike what we had done by van.
But it´s worth it as Luc and Val´s family await us, having just returned just
three weeks ago from their own world tour and they are still “landing”. I dare
to have some food for dinner for the first time all day, and the liquers that
they take out for dessert kill any foreign body that was left on my insides.
The next day we top the foolishness of the week and return almost to the
same point where we left the Poles to meet some other friends of Sylvain´s
(yes, again Sylvain) in Romont. We decide not to take the same road where we
have been and follow the cycle route number 9, which crosses Switzerland
through the lake area from west to east. We fear the worst when Luke tells us,
very seriously: "I have followed cycling routes in more than thirty
countries and I can assure you that in Switzerland it is impossible to get
lost." 10 miles from his house, again a sign that says: "Route
barrée". We take a detour, where we get excited with a long descent and
then we to realize we we've lost sight of Route 9. guess it has merit. Anyway,
we continue along the road, which in this country is a delight: the people are
extremely polite and drivers are extremely respectful. And the happier I am,
when most I'm enjoying the health of my knees, the beauty of the landscape and
my recovered stomach... a bee stings me
on a finger of my right hand, so I write this post with nine fingers and a
sausage. I hope our luck gets better!
