1,600 km through the Alps, from Munich to Monaco – all by bike. This is what a group of Dutch cyclists are doing this September. Their goal: to give Alpine glaciers a voice and raise awareness of climate change. As glaciologists from ETH Zurich, my office mate Aaron Cremona and I joined them for one day. Together, we rode over the Furkapass and visited the Rhonegletscher, one of Switzerland’s largest glaciers. Here are my fresh impressions of a memorable day.

Tuesday, 2 September 2025. An early train from Zurich drops me in Göschenen, where I meet Joost Brinkman, co-founder of the Dutch initiative Cycling for Climate. This organisation promotes awareness of the climate crisis by combining physical activity with fun. This year, they went big: the Glorious Glacier Ride, an ode to Alpine glaciers from Munich to Monaco. Covering 1,600 km of mountain roads across Germany, Austria, Italy, Switzerland, and France, the ride sheds light on the dramatic retreat of glaciers caused by global warming.

Six months ago, Cycling for Climate contacted ETH to help spread the word – and perhaps join for a stage. The ride is open to anyone, whether for a single day or the entire journey. At VAW, the Laboratory of Hydraulics, Hydrology and Glaciology, we said: “Yes!”

On the train, I meet Joost and the team for the first time. Around ten riders stand out immediately in their striking climate-stripe jerseys. Each coloured stripe represents annual temperature anomalies since 1900: red for hotter years, blue for cooler ones. The message is clear – global temperatures are rising, largely due to CO₂ emissions. Along the way, the riders are collecting donations to offset past emissions and promote alternatives to fossil fuels.

I introduce myself: I am a postdoc at ETH Zurich and researching glacial hydrology – how ice and water interact – and glacier-related natural hazards. Aaron, who just defended his doctorate last week, focused his work on improving predictions of glacier melt in the near future.

“How’s the mood?” I ask the group. Admiringly, I add: “You’ve already been riding for five days!” I expect a firm yes with proud smiles. Instead, Joost replies slowly: “Well, there have been better days.” I don’t dare ask why. Exhaustion is written on their faces. I wonder: how will this day unfold?

We get off the train in Andermatt. It’s 8 a.m. The weather is far from convincing: light rain, low clouds clinging to the valley floor, and a chill that hints at snowflakes on the Furkapass, still 1,000 metres higher. Standing at 2,400 m, the pass connects the cantons of Uri and Valais. It’s our main objective – a classic climb for cyclists, motorbikers, and camper vans. Today, though, the road is almost empty. Perhaps because of the weather.

The stage officially begins in front of the town hall, where a few more riders join us. Some heard about the ride on social media or from friends, others received a personal invitation. After a few encouraging words from the mayor – the town supports the project – the peloton rolls out, each rider settling into their own pace. Aaron and I, though not properly trained cyclists, still look relatively fresh compared to the veterans who have ridden for days without rest.

Climbing silently through drizzle and cold, we pass Pepijn. His pace is steady, but his bowed head reveals the struggle. “I have no power in my legs this morning. Maybe it comes later,” he mutters. I exchange a glance with Aaron, who nods knowingly. These riders are running on motivation alone – and it’s inspiring.

Less than two hours later, we all gather at Belvedere on the Valais side. From there, we hike to the Rhonegletscher, Switzerland’s 8th largest glacier. The sun makes timid appearances, enough to warm the air, but the view before us chills the mood. Like all Alpine glaciers, this one has suffered immense losses – about 10% of its volume gone in just 2022 and 2023.

The changes are written in the landscape: the glacier tongue now ends in a lake that has steadily grown since forming 20 years ago. Historic photos brought by the group show a once bright and healthy tongue; today, the ice appears dark, coated with years of accumulated dust. Nearby, thick white blankets once used to protect a tourist ice cave are torn open after the cave roof collapsed. The small patches of ice left behind are “dead ice” – they won’t survive the year.

In the eyes of my companions, I see a paradoxical mix of feelings. They knew glaciers were shrinking; they’ve seen the pictures. But standing face to face with the reality is different. For a brief moment, they seem overwhelmed by something much larger than themselves: climate change, international politics, the disintegration of once-glorious glaciers.

At the glacier margin, I speak to the team while tourists gather around. I explain how much ice has been lost since 2000, and how much is already committed to be lost – about 30% of Alpine ice by 2050, no matter what we do, because today’s glaciers are responding to past CO₂ emissions. I pause, then smile: “This also means we can still save half the ice by the end of the century, if we meet the Paris Agreement targets.”

“Look around,” I say. “Imagine half of this gone – but half still here. Snow still glittering in summer, ice still flowing. That half is worth fighting for.”

We take a group picture, then roll back onto the road. Perhaps it’s my imagination, but I sense new resilience and hope in the rhythm of the peloton.

The descent is pure joy – gravity on our side. In Visp, our paths diverge: I return to Zurich while they continue toward Zermatt, ready to meet another glacier, welcome new riders, and spread the word in their colourful striped jerseys.

On the train, I reflect. We shared more than just a stage today. We shared the rain and cold wind of the Furkapass, the effort of moving forward with minimal emissions. Travel “by fair means” comes at a cost, but the reward is greater: horizons earned honestly, landscapes crossed at a human pace, and meaningful encounters with the people who live there. And, of course, the endorphins – which never fail to make you happy. What we truly shared, though, were values. I picture this group of riders heading south, over countless mountain passes, through storms, past vanishing glaciers – connecting with more people along the way, building a growing, borderless family.