It had rained all night and cheapy tent had kept me dry. It continued to pour down outside, and I was left thinking what I could do.

I chatted with a few Swedish climbers who were hoping to climb the Matterhorn even though it was very early in the season. They were just sitting around waiting for the weather to break. We all agreed that Zermatt was not a place for anyone but the very well off.

Dark Tourism... have a guide go round the graveyard telling you how everyone died, in detail...

I walked into town to try and find a WiFi spot, eventually having to buy a coffee in McDonalds to get one. The weather was looking bad for this day and the next, so my mind was made up. I would ride to Chamonix where there was more to do, it was cheaper and the weather would break quicker.

I packed in the rain, wished the Swedish lads all the best and trudged off to the station. I had not enjoyed my visit, apart from a brief glimpse of the Matterhorn.

I ate my lunch in the Tasch terminal of the station under hard glares from the staff. I just don't fit in here! Stranger in a stranger place again!

At least Betty was glad to see me. It had been a long stay in a rather dark underground garage. Motorcycles are afraid of the dark. I know this is true because they all have headlights. Think about it.

As soon as we left Tasch, lt stopped raining. It was quite nice and sunny at lower altitudes, warm too.

The trip to Chamonix was relatively uneventful. I didn't want to use the motorways because you had to buy an expensive vignette for using them. So I took slow roads that made slow progress.

As I rode up the pass that would take me into France, it started to rain hard again. Hard rain tended to run down my front, and end up somehow, in my pants, despite my biking trousers being waterproof. I had come up with a cunning plan and placed a carrier bag over this region to avoid this problem. It did look a bit odd at filling stations, but that is beside the point. In fact forget that last bit altogether.

It appeard to be working well. What was actually happening was the water was being stored up. So as I enterd the first hairpin bend the whole resevoir of freezing water let rip into my shreddies.

This had a number of effects, I screamed, I kind of forgot about motorcycling for a moment and I stopped steering. Like a true professional, I regained control just in time to avoid having to get landing clearance from Geneva airport.

After that incident, I removed the plastic bag.

Chamonix was bathed in a bath of drizzle when I arrived. I did find a nice campsite that lay right under a couple of Glaciers. If it is nice tomorrow, I will go and have a look.

Some tents have all the luck...

I set up the damp new tent and used the poles and flysheet of the old tent to make a rather spiffing lean to on Betty. Think of the tent as an over amourous dog and the bike as your leg, and you have the picture beautifully.

So I cooked, read and wrote most of this, out of the rain and dry. A million dollars!