I set my alarm for 5 a.m., but ended up waking on my own 45 minutes earlier—not counting the three or four times I woke during the night. I still can’t seem to get used to sleeping neither in a tent nor on a random bed. On the upside, at least I didn’t have to rush. I left right at 6 a.m.
The morning was pleasantly cool for about an hour, while the sun still lingered low. I followed the canal, with the only variation in scenery being whether it was on my left or right. After three hours of this prosaic ride, accompanied by persistent knee pain, I arrived in Mulhouse, where on the main square I afforded myself a brief, fifteen-minute reprieve from both monotony and discomfort.
Leaving town, I missed a few signposts and ended up taking a couple of short detours. Nothing dramatic, just enough to be annoying. I kept going until I reached Kembs, where I turned toward Saint-Louis—a French suburb of Swiss Basel and my resting place for the night. A friend had kindly offered me a place to stay.
After a shower and a bit of conversation, I headed to Basel, this time sans vélo. I took a short train ride—a much-needed break from pedaling—and strolled around the old town, visiting a few landmarks. I treated myself to an ice cream and nearly choked when I saw the price for two ordinary scoops. No wonder the Swiss do their grocery shopping on the French side.
Though it was my first time in Basel, I didn’t stay long. The combination of fatigue from cycling, the heat, and the thick crowds wore me down quickly. After a couple of hours, I called it a day and returned to the quiet of the suburban house to relax.
Today in Numbers:
90 km — distance cycled
500 — vehicles on display at the National Automobile Museum in Mulhouse, including over 120 Bugattis
72 — hours of parades, music, and satirical lanterns at Basler Fasnacht, the world’s only Protestant carnival recognized by UNESCO
700+ — years that Basler Läckerli, a traditional hard spice biscuit, has delighted locals