Award season: Travel Journalist of the Year. Sort of.

It’s been a good year for writing and photography awards, which means I have some new certificates and plaques to figure out what to do with. The biggest plaque came from the Society of American Travel Writer’s Lowell Thomas Travel Journalism Awards (three times fast!), the most prestigious in the industry. The SATW were kind enough to give me a bronze award for their 2012 Grand Award — Travel Journalist of the Year. Gray-haired people seem to appreciate this one the most, since they actually know who Lowell Thomas was (in short: the man). Though I submitted skiing, paddling, and non-sporty stories as part of my year’s work, the judges seemed to most appreciate my off-the-beaten path cycling adventures. Here’s what they had to say:

A bike ride in Switzerland, part II

We pedaled out from the town of Livigno, Italy under heavy skies and snow-cloaked summits. Mick waited impatiently while I stopped to chat with a fisherman along the river at the edge of town. He was anxious to get over Chaschauna Pass before the predicted afternoon storms arrived, but I wasn't in a hurry. The way the churlish clouds were descending I figured we were getting clobbered no matter what.

Of course, there are many ways to get clobbered. Besides mountain storms and snow-choked passes, another good way is to push your bike up savagely steep mountains trails for 3,000 feet...

A bike ride in Switzerland

Recently got back from a week riding bikes in Switzerland and have to admit something: I totally underestimated the Alps.

When I heard last spring that the Swiss had developed a new 400-mile, nation-spanning mountain bike route, I knew I had to check it out. Then I learned that the organization behind it, Swiss Trails, would haul your luggage for you each day. You book your trip, they make your hotel reservations, send you a custom itinerary with maps, and, kazow, you're ready to go. All you do is show up and ride. Piece of cake. As someone used to doing self-contained wilderness trips, this sounded like a relaxing change of pace. Leisurely, even. 

Which just goes to show how clueless I was about Switzerland. I mean, there's a reason people call places with steep, gigantic mountains "the Alps of ... (insert name of place with steep, gigantic mountains here)."

Mick and I realized this as soon as we stepped off the train in Scuol, a mountain village tucked into a far eastern finger of the country near the Austrian and Italian borders.

"Are we riding over those?" Mick said, pointing up at the snow-covered wall of mountains rising 5,000 feet from the valley floor.

"I have no idea," I said, spinning around and taking in the view, "but we're going over something big."

Of this there was no doubt. Sky-scratching peaks loomed in every direction, so it really didn't matter that I had no idea where we going. One way or the other we were riding over the Alps, and by the looks of things it would be anything but leisurely.