360 Degrees Longitude (16 page)

If it hadn't been for
cyclus interruptus
, we would have passed through Friedrichshafen about two months earlier. The broken leg had all the drama of an eight-week-long root canal; being on the shores of Lake Constance with warm sunshine put the fine point on our forced change in plans. I busied myself looking out over the water and counting people cycling the path along the shore. I then heard a voice. “It's been two weeks. We should get Katrina's leg x-rayed again.” It was September speaking.

“Why?” I said. “One definition of ‘crazy' is doing something more than once and expecting a different outcome. The doctor in Copenhagen said
at least
two or three weeks, but it was pretty clear to me she was trying to sugarcoat the real prognosis of two or three
months.”

“Well, that's completely different from what Dr. Julen told us way back in Zermatt. More data can't hurt.”

Ah, it was the familiar “more data” debate. “Have I ever told you—” But I was cut off.

“Yes, I've heard your ‘analysis paralysis' stories a thousand times. This is different. We aren't about to launch a rocket.”

We went back and forth for a while, but I was really arguing for the intellectual stimulation; it lifted my spirits. September understands this about me.

Once again, we took Katrina to see a doctor and have her leg x-rayed, explaining to the doctor how we came to be in his office. He looked at the X-rays of her leg that we had in our possession. “The cast
must
come off today!” he declared with authority. “I don't need an X-ray to tell me that!”

You could have knocked me over with a feather.

The doctor took an X-ray of her leg anyway and the 5-mm gap in the bone was still clearly displayed, but he stood his ground. “The cast absolutely must come off today.”

Not only was that contrary to the Danish doctor, but it was contrary to my gut instincts as an engineer. I exclaimed, “But doctor, there is no bone there. No structure to support the weight! Won't she just refracture her leg?!”

“It's a risk,” he said, reaching for his electric saw, “but the bone will heal much faster if it is out of the cast. I'm surprised that the bone has healed so little in the past eight weeks. If we leave it in the cast it will be
months
before it heals completely. In cases like this, the bone needs some stimulation as a catalyst for the healing process.”

I couldn't help myself. “Why didn't they tell us that in Denmark?”

“There are many kinds of fractures.” The good doctor smiled and pointed to several framed photos on the wall of skiers schussing down impossibly steep inclines. “Denmark is a flat country.”

I stood there with a stupid expression, trying to take in this meaning, but his saw was already cutting the plaster. “Her leg is still broken,” the doctor said, removing the cast. “It will be several weeks before Katrina will be able to walk without crutches. Absolutely no running, cycling, or other contact sports for several weeks. Katrina will know when she is ready.” As we were making our way from the doctor's office, he remarked in an offhanded way, “Just don't trip or stumble!”

Thanks for the confidence boost, Doc.

We packaged up our bicycle panniers and shipped them home. Then we purchased bona fide suitcases at Wal-Mart and abandoned at the train station the moving dolly we had purchased in Krakow. We then said our good-byes to Mrs. Happy and boarded the 5:30 p.m. ferry across Lake Constance to Romanshorn, Switzerland.

September 6–September 17
Switzerland … again

Y
ou've gotta be joking.”

Katrina gave me a hurt puppy dog look and asked, “Why not?” Jordan and I had left September and Katrina 13 hours earlier to retrieve our tandems from Zermatt. After zipping across Switzerland by train, whiling away the time reading or watching sitcoms on my e.brain, Jordan and I were now rendezvousing with September and Katrina in the small mountain valley of Lauterbrunnen according to plan. September and Katrina had found us a place to stay and were waiting at the train station. Katrina wanted to ride the tandem. Now.

“Little one,” I said, “your leg is still broken. You're not supposed to put any pressure on it whatsoever.”

“It's about a 45-minute walk back to our cabin,” Katrina said. “My arms are so tired from walking here on my crutches to meet you and Jordan. I hope I don't get too tired on the walk back and slip and fall.”

I couldn't believe I was being talked into this. That I was on the
opposing
side of the debate. A thousand arguments ran through my mind in the span of a few seconds.

“It's downhill all the way from here,” September added. “She wouldn't even have to pedal. And it isn't like we're loaded down; we're light with no panniers.”

“But she can't even bend her knee far enough to follow the pedal around in its arc. We don't want to …” I stopped midsentence, then reached for my tool bag. A moment later I was holding Katrina's left pedal in my hand. “There,” I said. “No pedaling required.”

With Katrina's crutches strapped to the rear rack, we rode for the first time in eight weeks. Oh, what a joyous feeling! To be in this beautiful valley and feel the cool mountain air and the wind ruffling my hair, there just isn't anything like it to lift one's spirits. Well, maybe one thing …

Lauterbrunnen literally translates to “loud springs.” The “springs” are actually waterfalls, 72 in total, circling this high mountain valley, but they are anything but loud. The effect is actually quite peaceful. We were returning here to visit our apple tree, the one we'd planted in a precise location three years prior. How we were going to accomplish this with a daughter on crutches we still didn't know.

We were also in Lauterbrunnen to send the tandems home. I made a silent commitment to not even think about sending for the bikes again until I saw Katrina run just for the fun of running. Watching her hobble around on crutches, I knew that was still many weeks away.

While we waited for our tandem cases to be sent from David and Carolyn's in England, we spent the next few days taking short bike rides along the valley floor, Katrina's crutches strapped to the back, her left foot dangling unused.

• • •

“I wouldn't touch that if I were you.” We had been out for the day and were picnicking in a place known to us as “Nutella Nirvana.”
Jordan's hand had been transformed into a fighter jet, and it was just about to come in for a landing.

Jordan looked up and said, “Why not?”

“It's an electric fence,” I explained. “It'll attack you like it's a rattlesnake.”

“Dad. I never know when to take you seriously.”

“I am being serious now.”

Jordan eyed me with suspicion. He asked, “How can a fence attack you?” and while he was saying it, he brought the fighter jet in for a landing on the wire. For a very brief moment he wore a smug expression on his face, but then he leapt a tall building in a single bound, a primal yell punctuating the feat. Upon landing he started to karate chop the air near the fence.

He looked at me with a mixture of anger and awe and said, “How did you do that?”

“I did nothing.” I was trying my best to stifle a laugh. “It's an electric fence. Farmers use them to keep their animals inside.” I then taught him how to distinguish an electric fence from a normal fence. “See the wires embedded into the weave of this fabric? That's only the first clue. The thing you really want to look for are these babies,” I said, pointing to the ceramic insulators.

Nutella Nirvana is known to the world as Gimmelwald, population no more than four or five families. In the summertime a traveler can stay in Nutella Nirvana at the hostel, or in the local “sleep-in-straw.” Farmers all over Switzerland let out their barns during the summer months while their cows are out to pasture. It is a very inexpensive night's accommodation in a country that isn't known for anything inexpensive. The barns are far, far cleaner than some places we would stay in months later.

We came to Nutella Nirvana for the locally made chocolate. “Here, try this,” I said, passing Jordan a rather large piece of confection.

Jordan eyed me with suspicion. “I never know when to take you seriously.”

“It's good. You've had them before, you just don't remember.”

“It looks like …” Jordan paused. He didn't want to say what it looked like.

“Horse poop?” I said, finishing his sentence. “These are actually called ‘Horse Shit Balls' and …”

“Dad!”
Katrina protested. “I can't believe you said that!”

“Hey! It's what they're called! People here speak German so they probably don't know that it's a bad word.” Which of course is not true—the people responsible for the name knew exactly what they were doing. “They're made to look this way and are yummy. Try one.”

“See?” I said. “They're good, aren't they? You can't always judge something by the way it looks. Sometimes a fence can attack you. Other times something that appears disgusting can be fantastic. You just need to try it first.”

As we returned to our campground, Jordan searched for electric fences. When he found one he looked at me with glee and issued a dare, “Touch it, wimp!”

“Okay,” I said, reaching out and grabbing the fence, holding on to it for dramatic effect.

Jordan ogled me with awe. Over the next several days, whenever Jordan saw an electric fence he would issue the same dare. On occasion I would casually reply to his dares, “I have touched every fence you dared me to, it's your turn to do it.” This would always end with a yelp, a leap, and him karate chopping the air.

What Jordan didn't understand is that I grew up around electric fences and could guess with about 90 percent accuracy the conditions under which a farmer would actually turn the fence on. So, Jordan didn't stand a chance. I'll tell him. Eventually.

• • •

During our stay in Lauterbrunnen we had become good friends with a Swiss-American family that owned and operated the local campground. September was celebrating her birthday and over cake, I mentioned to one of the young men of the family that he was lucky to live in such a beautiful place.

“This place drives me crazy,” he said. “I want to move to Las Vegas.”

“Trust me; you do not want to move to Las Vegas,” I replied.

“Why not?”

A million responses flooded my mind. I looked up toward the end of the valley where the Eiger, Jungfrau, and Mönch stood as sentinels, the sun glistening off their white peaks. September and I had been discussing Lauterbrunnen as an escape from the buzz of our fast-paced lives; it was on a short list of places never to return from. On either side of me waterfalls cascaded over the cliffs onto the lush valley floor. If there was an antithesis of Lauterbrunnen, it would be Vegas. “Las Vegas is dry, brown, plastered with neon signs, and buzzing with people,” I replied, as if that settled the matter.

“Exactly,” he said enthusiastically. “Nothing ever happens here.”

I thought about human nature and the tendency to want what we can't have.

“I've been wondering if we can ride our tandems down from the top of Männlichen,” I said, changing the subject. “We have a spot we visited three years ago that we want to return to, but it's a bit problematic with Katrina's leg. I remember a service road that goes to the top. Do you think we could put our tandems on the gondola and ride down?”

“Sure. I see bicyclists on that service road all the time.”