The weather shelter I landed in had no doors, but it did have benches. Lightning occasionally flashed far on the horizon; I wanted to capture it up close to show you. That's why, out of inexperience, I sat near the entrance to shoot a timelapse.
Soon the weather threw a tantrum, and I immediately fled to the wall so I wouldn't get soaked. My phone, however, stayed right there in the rain, so much so that the guy next to me even got worried that my Handy would get wet. That's what they call smartphones in Germany and Switzerland. The guy, truth be told, was Romanian, and next to him sat his cute daughter, slightly younger than me. As my buddy and manager Rob rightly pointed out, I'm already at that age where everyone seems unexpectedly young to me. Later, in the cable car gondola, the Romanian girl told me what to do in Switzerland if the weather isn't great, and treated me to a piece of candy. It would be convenient if people gave each other signals with candy, so you wouldn't have to guess who likes you and who doesn't. Because with my anxious psyche, it's not exactly clear.
We sat cozily together with other hikers in the little house while the downpour went on. It looked pretty scary: a howling wind, clouds rushing by at breakneck speed — good thing at least there wasn't a thunderstorm nearby. Even such a peaceful demonstration convinced me not to joke around with the weather in the mountains, and to check the forecast carefully. Then again, we already learned this lesson back in Iceland, when we walked for 13 hours through a terrifying storm.
Read about it, one of the most powerful impressions of my life.
As if by magic, 40 minutes later, the rampage of the elements ceased. The forecast turned out to be surprisingly accurate. I have, however, long been filled with respect for meteorologists. They are just so good at predicting the weather for bike rides over the next few hours, or even a couple of days. This is highly relevant for cyclists, because for the most part, our brethren have absolutely zero desire to ride in a downpour or into a headwind.
Some of the hikers left while it was still drizzling, but I wasn't in any particular hurry. Lifts in Switzerland usually operate until 16:30-17:30 at high altitudes, and 19:00-20:00 halfway up the mountain, so I was perfectly on schedule.
Nevertheless, when the rain stopped completely, I set off further on my way. Soon I reached a fork. Downwards went an hour-long path to the middle gondola station, while in front of me loomed Fronalp in all its intimidating steepness and immensity.
So where did I turn?
Oh, it was fun
ok. Fronalpstock
