Scaredypants Groffy and the Tunnel of Doom

I don’t hate many things. There are some critters, namely venomous spiders, snakes and sharks, for whom I have a healthy respect. Heights don’t bother me too much and public speaking just makes me uncomfortable. And after years of loathing cilantro and brussel sprouts, I have found that I actually quite like both when prepared properly (i.e. not boiled to death and smelling of feet, in the case of brussel sprouts). The closest that I have come to hatred in recent years is my ongoing disdain for clowns. The closest, that is, until I came to Davos and rode through the 2.7 km long Landwasser Tunnel.

I can safely say that I hate the Landwasser Tunnel with the burning passion of a thousand suns. The first time that I went into the tunnel I was worried that I wouldn’t come out alive and, despite having successfully passed through it a number of times since, I still enter with a sinking feeling of dread. Among its many charming characteristics you’ll find: almost total darkness, seriously confined space, a significant temperature drop, the distortion of automotive noise that both amplifies and makes the vehicle’s direction unknown (one scooter can sound like a fleet of tanks, ready to surround you), recycled auto emission-laden air and trolls*.

Not surprisingly, when I safely pop out the other side of the tunnel, I have a white-knuckle grip on my handlebars and it requires a few kilometers of riding before my shoulders drop from ear level. The most startling part of reaching the end of the tunnel, however, is the contrast that meets you. From a dark, scary and confined space, you emerge into the bright, dazzling open Swiss countryside. And while I hate the feeling that consumes me while inside, it is this contrast helps me see the world with a different perspective. In other words, the hatred of the tunnel, really just my fear resulting from a skewed perception of danger, allows me to appreciate the non-tunnel riding that much more. Yes, I hate the tunnel, but I will continue to ride through it, mostly because I have no other option to reach my destination. I ride though that terrifying, potentially troll-filled tunnel with the hopes that I’ll reach the other end safely. Somehow, I always do.

• Okay, I haven’t actually seen a troll in there, but it always reminds me of the descent into the mines of Moria from the Lord of the Rings. Like with the orc drumming, I expect the car noises to be followed by trolls, orcs and the Balrog. (And, yes, referencing the Lord of the RIngs officially makes me a dork.)

P.S. Yeah, I know... the tunnel is a completely overworked metaphor. In my defense, I’m an athlete, not a writer. If you want real writing, my amazing sister is the Groff with the writing chops. If you want blog posts from the endorphine addled brain of a triathlete, however, you are in the right place!