This story begins as many of mine do, with an alarm going off at an uncomfortably early time. It’s Sunday morning and we’re driving to Switzerland. Miraculously Sam has managed to wake before my alarm, creep into the kitchen, and prepare me a cup of tea without waking me from my sleep. Despite it being about 5am the tea is perfect, with a sensible brew time and correct amount of milk. Sam is the sort of man who does things properly, and tea is no exception. I rise and enjoy my unexpected cuppa, and we begin to load up the car. we’ve packed fairly light but still need to play tetris with three bikes on the roof and get down to the start of the M32 where we’ll intercept Ayoob.

We arrive at our meeting point and there is no sign of him. We dial his phone… no answer. He must be riding. Ayoob is a notoriously early riser, and has normally gotten up, explored his surroundings and found himself a coffee long before the rest of the world has stirred. Sam joked ‘maybe he is alseep’ and we mulled over how incredibly unlikely this would be. Ayoob simply doesnt oversleep. Well, as it turns out he doesnt oversleep unless its the night before a 14 hour journey to Davos, Switzerland.

Eventually we got through to his phone, told him to stay put and hot footed across the city to pick him up and get on our way. Luckily and thanks to Sams wisdom we’d decided to allow a good morning time buffer. There was plenty of time in hand.

We took another quick stop to collect Andrew who’d been at a wedding near London the night before, and the four of us made our way to the channel tunnel. time passed quickly on the motorway with much to talk about having not seen each other collectively since our last trip in April. I’d not boarded the tunnel before and was excited by driving onto a train. We had achevied four bikes on top of one car, on top of a train. If that’s not a thrilling bit of transport Jenga then I don’t know what is. Driving onto a train that carries you beneath the sea is an incredible feat of engineering and something that shouldn’t be taken for granted.

We soon arrived in Calais, and the first time my car had put it’s tyres down on European ground. I’ve been fortunate to be a passenger on numerous European road trips in the past and have driven abroad in hire cars, but this was the first big trip in my own vehicle, affectionately dubbed the ‘Hondasaurus’ on account of it being A, a Honda, and B, quite spacious.

Driving on the left is one of those things I’ve always had internalised as a big deal because of childhood memories of my parents stressing about it on holidays to France, in reality it’s no biggie, and aside from turning out of a hotel carpark onto the left one time early in the morning and the occasional spot of lazy mistaken outside lane hogging everything was plain sailing.

I’m not really a petrol head sort of person but do get attached to cars in the same way that I get attatched to bikes, and this trip further strengthened my bond with the big Honda. #vanlife is constantly preached at me through social media as being a nessecity for an adventurous lifestyle, and for a while I was tempted, but for my needs I’m convinced a large estate car with some bike racks on the roof and enough room in the back to sleep comfortably is the ultimate versatile tool for the jobs I need it to perform. #bigestatelife is for me.

France dissapeared almost in the blink of an eye, with a driver swap every couple of hours and a few energy drinks it felt like no time before we found outselves edging towards the mountains and the Swiss border, a quick pizza stop near Basel and we were off of the motorway and winding our way through the mountains and valleys towards Davos where we would spend the night.

My last visit to Switzerland was over 10 years ago, and was in the pursuit of roads to ride skateboards down rather than bikes. It feels like another life now, but driving the smooth winding mountain road of Flüelapass took me back, and I couldnt stop visualising picking lines and sliding into the corners. If you’re not familiar with downhill skateboarding, watch this. The level has raised a lot since my time and I wasn’t half as good as this guy, but you get the idea.

We arrived at our hostel in Davos under the cover of darkness and quickly settled down to sleep. I like arriving in new places after sunset. It makes that first glimpse through the curtains in the morning extra special, like a kid opening a christmas present. On this particular morning I was greeted by a damp and drizzley town, with thick cloud low over the hills and a Swiss flag hanging limp from its pole due to the lack of wind.

It was a short drive from Davos to S-Chanf where we’d be leaving the car as a resupply point in the middle of our planned 6 day figure of eight route, but as we wound up and over the mountains the rain became heavier and heavier, and the temperature dropped with a river of water running down the road. We were doing our best to retain high spirits, but I was concerned for heading out for a big day in the mountains in this weather. it might have been 25 degrees in the valley but was below 10 up above 2000m, and I worried we’d have quickly become soaked, cold and miserable even with good gear.

That was when we were hit with a stroke of luck. The tourist office in S-Chanf where we’d need to buy our parking permit was closed until 2pm. That meant our planned 11am start was out the window, but also meant hunting down a cafe to sit for a while and enjoy some lunch. We found a little spot and I mustered up my best ‘Sprechun sie English?’ she didnt speak any, which meant asking for the only sandwich fillings I know. ‘Brotchen mit kase un schinken bitte?’ we got a little sandwich and some coffees, and Ayoob tried to pay her in dollars by mistake, furthering our image as hopeless brits abroad. By the time the tourist office had opened and we were ready to go there was barely a cloud in the sky. We were fortunate not to experience a single drop of rain from that point onwards.

At this point I should explain the basis of our trip. We’d been inspired by a route from the ever useful resource of Bikepacking.com, but had chosen to tweak it slightly to appeal to our singletrack hunting mountainbiking desires. We’d take 6 days, and our route passed through some significant points of interest. To name just a few, the town of Guarda once voted the most beauituful in Switzerland, the highest pine forest in europe the God Tamangur, and The Kesch Hut beside the Kesch Glacier. We’d see numerous Marmots, keep our eyes peeled for Ibex, eat truly vast quantities of cheese, and ride through remote and challenging landscapes rarely visited by people with bikes.

With my parking permit secured we set of from S-Chanf and wound our way allong the valley, riding with the sort of excitement and enthusiasm that shows in everbodies body language on the bike. We’d waited months for this trip, and now we were here, living, doing it, watching as plans in a spreadsheet became tyres on the gravel, the wind in our faces, and mountains before our eyes. This was going to be good.

The first memorable point of day #1 was a food stop in Susch which was where I got my first taste of the wonderful Bündner Nusstorte, a delicious caramel nut tart which tasted amazing and seemed to fuel the body pretty well too. I’ve resolved to try and make one some time. I’m not much of a baker but watch this space.

From Susch we began to climb up towards the town of Guarda (not to be confused with Garda, Italy) which sits half way up the valley with glorious veiws of the mountains opposite, and an abundance of beautiful and typically Swiss buildings. It’s no suprise this place has been considered one of the most beautiful Swiss villages. One of the water fountains had little toy boats in it, and we watched a man demonstrating the concept of a water wheel to a couple of wide eyed children. Moments like that make me think about how it might feel be to be a parent. Showing a young mind things for the first time, teaching, sharing. Whether or not that lies in my future is undetermined but It’s fun to ponder.

From Guarda we took a long traverse to the town of Ftan where we would begin the big climb of the day, up to 2500m. From where we were at this was around 1000m up, or, as Andrew put it, ‘Only ten Belmonts’ Belmont being a small hill outside Bristol.

On reaching the upper third of the climb I was treated with my first marmot sighting, and then quite quickly my second, third, and probably hundredth, there were loads of them. I’d never seen a marmot before which made this extra special. On googling later I found that they are the largest member of the squirrel family and are in fact very territorial and violent towards one another, much more agressive than thier cute appearance might make you think.

The final section of this climb was to be the first indicator of things to come in terms of physical difficulty and establishing a pecking order. The smooth fire road turned to singletrack and then nothingness. The hike-a-bike began. Sam has a unique ability to stay in the saddle long after almost anybody else would have given up and settled into a push. He’ll stumble, falter, push a bit, get back on, keep going. keep trying, even over the steepest and most adverse terrain, he’s not giving up until it is absolutely certainly unridable. It’s quite something to watch. I’ve never ridden with somebody who possesses close to Sams level of determination to ride everything that might have the tiniest glimmer of hope of being achievable.

The other three of us mostly resided to the hike and accepted we’d be having a bit of time on our feet, although we were tempted by riding a few sections. at one point on attempting to re mount ride a climb Andrew fell over in the grass. I rolled past. ‘you can’t park there mate’ Not the best joke but It got a weary smile out of him as he led there for a moment, seemingy savouring the excuse to rest for a second before picking himself up and resuming the schlep to the summit.

The hike didn’t last long, and we found ourselves at the top of our first big climb of the trip. savouring the veiw, and excited for a downhill run in to our hotel in Scuol. The descent began with some winding singletrack and got the juices flowing, but the second section we dropped into was really gnarly stuff, the sort of riding you’d want an enduro bike for. I dont mind some steep tech, but this was really steep and loose and not the sort of thing XC bikes have any business going near. We tried a few corners before residing to the fact we’d have to hike back up out of it and find another way down. A smart choice on the first day of a week long trip.

At this point the night was drawing in, and we found a little-ridden grassy flow trail back down to the town. It wasn’t quite the mountain decending experience we’d hoped for on our first day, but we were all satisfied with a great days riding in beautiful scenery and knew that better descents would be to come.

By the time we reached the hotel it was 8:45pm, and most places in the town had stopped or were about to stop serving. Luckily we found a table outside an italian restuarant and each got ourselves a huge bowl of gnocci. I’m a notoriously slow eater but dinner didn’t last long after the day we’d had. 65km and 2000m of elevation off road is enough to give anybody an appetite.

On settling into bed it didn’t take me long to drift off to sleep, although both myself and Ayoob who were sharing a room woke having had some unusual and unpleasant dreams. Maybe it was the gnocci. Maybe it was a subconscious fear of the vast army of aggressive marmots. Or maybe we ate too much cheese.

If you’ve read this far, part two is to follow, the story is just getting started.