The myths and legends of alpinism: dreaming about Hermann and his bicycle

HERMANN'S CYCLIST

"It all began one day", this is how the short story I'm about to write begins...

Maienfeld is a small village that would certainly go unnoticed were it not for the fact that Heidi was born there, and we all know who Heidi was! Every evening my children sit in front of the TV, watch this beautiful, unspoiled and enchanted world in amazement where the little girl grows up healthily, cared for and looked after by her grumpy grandfather.

One day, as I wandered through the green of the forest, not all that far away, just outside the village, I came across a herd of sheep. Nothing strange up to this point, it certainly wasn't the first time I'd bumped into them, I like sheep. As if mesmerized by this animal I stood there, motionless, observing. I watched them as they are continuously, free and carefree. And then, like every proper herd, it had its Dog and... Shepherd!

Few words at first, just an acknowledging glance, then a simple greeting as time passed... Another glance and the words multiplied to transform into a discussion. The Shepherd wished to talk, and I wanted to listen. His "comprehensible" accent reminded me of his past, his youth in the forests and an ancient craft long forgotten, a profession that required “adept hands” (being skilled at using hands in a non-violent manner is an art which, slowly but surely, is disappearing altogether). I listened and watched...

Shepherd: "When I was young, I was a good cyclist, I'd built a bike by myself, I enjoyed assembling and disassembling it, screwing the bits and pieces back together again, I knew how to repair any bicycle, big ones, small ones, old or new... I was constantly on the move and continuously tried out new ideas and cities! One day I even repaired the bike of an alpinist who, while returning from a climb, had fallen into a river!"

Me: "Wait, hang on, what did you say, and alpinist who fell into a river? What was his name, can you still remember?"

Shepherd: "Well, I was youngster at the time, but my memory is still good, always has been. I'm old now, have wrinkles, grey hair, rugged skin, but my memory doesn't fail me. His name was Hermann! He had an old bicycle, at the time there were many bicycles that were worse than his, but better than his... there were many, too! His face was tired, taught, his big hands were full of cuts, I reckon alpinists always have rugged hands. He told me he'd just had a fantastic adventure, he talked to me about corners, cracks and chimneys... "

I was astonished, so much history had already been written down and told, but I never thought I'd meet the person who had encountered, and helped much to his own dismay, the "legend". The words and memories continued to come forth, he mentioned the make of bike's tyres, the frightful fall, the cuts on the knees of the alpinist / cyclist. The hands of the Shepherd rotated through the air as he explained the circumference of the wheels ... big hands, marked by time. We hugged each other goodbye, with a smile and a promise to meet again. The kind of promise you know you can never keep, but that makes you feel good nevertheless. Goodbye Hermann's "cyclist", the cyclist of the Legend, the cyclist that fuels our dreams.

by Ivo Ferrari

... other solo ascents carried out by Buhl (Hermann, ed.) remain memorable: in 1952 he climbed the Fox-Stenico (Cima d'Ambiez) and the NE Face of Pizzo Badile. For the latter, he reached cycled to Val Bondasca from the Austrian town Landeck, climbed the Cassin route in 5 hours, descended down the Spigolo Nord and returned by bicycle to Landeck, all on the same day (ascending the Maloja pass once again and waking up in the freezing Inn waters when he was close to the 'finishing line') <except taken from the "Enciclopedia dello Sport" - Treccani"