The day began in French. A search for a petrol station with a character check, because the first one only had E10 – and the old lady really doesn’t get that. The second one finally had real gas – and right next to it a bakery with golden croissants and piping hot cappuccino. 4 out of 5 cups, because you burn your fingers when you drink it – but that’s part of the charm. The coffee was steaming and the sun was shining – the best start to the trip so far.

Meanwhile: an animal encounter at the bakery. A small dog came up to me curiously. His master – an older, friendly Frenchman – asked me in French if I could look after him for a moment while he went shopping. Unfortunately, my French didn’t extend beyond croissants, so another guest stepped in to help. Cordial moments also work with language barriers.

Incidentally, the man belonged to a deep blue vintage car, probably a Citroën from better times – stylish, elegant, as French as baguettes and berets. When he got back in later and rolled off, I was still standing there taking photos when he honked his horn in a friendly farewell. The dog, the car, the moment – simply beautiful.

Then came Switzerland – with curves, sun and cowbells. At Passwang, the mood was good, the view better, and the cowbells provided the soundtrack. With every kilometer, the mountains got higher and the bends tighter – motorcycle cinema at its best.

Things got really adventurous on the Glaubenberg Pass, which is officially closed. I smuggled myself through anyway – 1,550 m altitude, remnants of snow and bratwurst at the “Passhöchi Beizli”. The names here sound like something out of an Alpine comedy, but the food was seriously good. Full, satisfied, slightly sunburnt.

And then it happened: after the Glaubenberg Pass, just before Lake Sarnen, I wanted to take a few quick photos. The road was narrow, the view fantastic – so I parked the old lady, took out the side stand, helmet down, camera out. One click, two clicks – RUMMS. A noise behind me that no motorcyclist wants to hear. I turn around – and there she is. The old lady just lay down. Presumably in protest at all the photo breaks. Or because the first gear wasn’t right after all.

Short strength training included: almost 300 kilos needed to be lifted up again – alone, on narrow asphalt. Fortunately, just a few scratches on the crash bar and a cracked blinker lens, which has now been patched up with adventure-style adhesive tape. Straighten the crown, take a deep breath and ride on. Character counts – even with scratches.

And then… came the planning crash. Grimsel Pass: closed. Gotthard Pass: likewise. Susten Pass? Also closed. The tunnel? Open, but only with a vignette – for a whopping €48 toll just to get through the mountain. The satnav wanted to drive over closed roads, and I was stuck somewhere between plan A and plan B. So: abandoned, turned around, looked for accommodation.

The number at the inn? Not available. The next choice? Not promising either. It was one of those days when nothing was going right – and that’s exactly why you eventually decide on plan C.

And that’s how I ended up in Meiringen. No online booking, no searching – just walked into a lodge, asked, booked, done. A charming room, a motorcycle on the doorstep, evening peace in my heart. Sometimes things work out exactly when you stop trying to force it.

Conclusion: From France to almost Bellinzona – but then not. Top croissants, great bends, magnificent views, planning – well. Tomorrow will be a new dice roll.