Biking the Lake
Saturday was an amazing Zurich summer day. Zurich really does have summer days like California, except better, not too hot, not too dry, and warm and lovely at night so that you can sit at sidewalk cafes in your skirt and sleeveless T. Sleeper, who I work with, and his wife Compass invited me out for a bike tour along the western shore of the lake. They biked down to meet me in Wollishofen and then we set out along a hilly path that sometimes hugged the lake and sometimes rose high up above it so that you could see the eastern shore and even the painted mountains far beyond the houses.
If you’ve ever zoomed out from Zurich on a map, you’ll see that the city itself sits at the northernmost point of Lake Zurich, and that the narrow lake bends southward and then east, like a greenbean cupping the northeastern part of the country. The lake is about thirty miles long down its western side, and we rode seven miles of that from Wollishofen to Horgen, and then another three miles on a circuitous route down to the ferry dock at Au. Climbing the hills here, while steep, really seemed like nothing at all compared to riding back home, simply because the sightseeing was unparalleled. At almost every rise in the road there was an opening in the trees where you could see the dark blue lake stretching out for miles and the streaks of white froth where motorboats and sailboats cut through the water. Every house on the winding street we traveled had a yard drowned by a rainbow of flowers, groundcovers of tiny violet and yellow buds, creeping vines with huge pink blossoms, and sprays of green grass and wildflowers peeking through wooden fences near the sidewalk. There were newer houses as well as traditional Swiss houses with exposed beams and brightly painted shutters, as well as all kinds of garden art, from statues to obelisks to what appeared to be a giant plastic scuba diver.
We stopped on the outskirts of Horgen for espresso and then rolled down the hill a bit to a grassy park by the lake where everyone was swimming and playing soccer and badminton and volleyball. Sleeper and Compass went into the lake and I laid on my beach towel for a while, sweating and soaking up my Vitamin D. I have an artful, Picasso-esque collection of strange tan lines all over me from my travels this summer to the U.S. and back to Switzerland, which I made worse by lying in the sun in board shorts and a bikini top. By the time Sleeper and Compass came back, I was thoroughly cooked, and they insisted that I try the lake as the water wasn’t cold at all.
I’ve come to realize that I have a different interpretation of cold than most everyone else on the planet. I walked down the boardwalk leading to the lake and down three steps into the water before I thought I wouldn’t be able to breathe, the water felt so frigid. Of course, like most things, getting into a cold lake is a lot easier if you just take the plunge rather than slowly punishing yourself inch by inch as the water rises up your body. So I dropped down into the water up to my chin, took a few gasping breaths, and felt… warm. Close to the shore, the lake had swirling currents of warm and cool water that didn’t seem to mix together. They’d churn around you as you waded through, alternately warming you up and giving you a chill as you started to swim. The water was full of tiny schools of dark gray fish that would dart away from your strokes, tufts of broken water plants, and the silt stirred up from the bottom by everyone’s jumping and splashing. I swam around for a bit then headed back to the grass, surprised that when I stepped out of the lake I wasn’t cold in the least. In fact, the way to really give yourself a shock was to try to use the outdoor shower connected to a tiny house next to the lake. They must have been piping that meltwater in from the Alps, because I stepped into it only to go leaping back out when it touched my skin.
After drying out in the sun, eating chocolate biscuits (you can’t take a trip anywhere around here without someone offering you chocolate-something), and changing back into our bike jerseys, we rode into a gorgeous garden, past a pond full of cattails, a fountain, alongside someone’s private vineyard, and then up a buttkicking little hill (at least, it is when you’re out of biking shape) and then down a steep path to the Au ferry dock.
The ferry that stops at the various docks along the western shore of the lake is nearly one-hundred years old. It has huge steamboat style red paddlewheels on either side and an open area on the lower deck where you can see the hardworking engine cranking away as the ferry chugs along the lake. You can stand near the bow on the lower deck, feeling the hot sun and cool breeze simultaneously, and watching as the ferry cruises past castles by the shore (these are people’s private residences), lakeside gardens and terraces, diving platforms with kids springing from five meters up, fountains shooting lake water, the train appearing and disappearing among the houses, and, as Sleeper pointed out, the Lindt-Sprüngli chocolate factory.
I took some photos as the ferry approached Burkliplatz, the dock for Zurich. A few photos from the ride and the ferry trip are below, and the rest I’ve put in this gallery. If anyone’s in town soon, I have an extra bike, and you should try riding with Sleeper and Compass soon, as there are rumors they are California-bound by the end of this gorgeous Zurich summer.
Lake Zurich looking southeast, as viewed from a lookout point near Wollishofen.
Me at a church terrace during a chocolate break.
On the ferry from Au to Zurich.
Getting ready to dock at Burkliplatz, and view of Zurich.
