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| June-July 2009: Riding Across the Alps (without elephants) Nearly 2 years in the planning, this epic ride across the Alps traced the tyre tracks of so many cyclists before us. Loosely based on the Alpine Raid, we were tackling the route of our re-design, taking the col roads from Lake Geneva down to Monte Carlo at a speed which put the Tour de France peloton to shame. En route the plan was to clamber over no less than 15 seriously Alpine cols, or perish in the attempt. At least we would be enjoying the countryside as we went. Well, some of the time anyway... Our team of riders comprised a fair spread in terms of age and abilities. Age ranges from thirty something to sixty something, the name Team Old Gits kind of fitted the bill (though I’m sure some amongst us would take issue with that). Border City provided the nucleus with seven riders (myself, Big Paul, Dr Paul, Dr Mike, Farmer Alex, Whistling Peter and Mountain Goat Kev) aided and abetted by young Kevin (Keswick Mountain Bikes) and Kentish Ian (Dulwich). Support was provided by Alpine Kevin, who doubled up as the tenth member of our team for much of the ride. Additional support came from Sergeant Woody, without whom I suspect the whole venture may have foundered. And so, let us begin... Part 1: The Alpine Ride Friday, June 26th The trip began and ended on a farm out near Kirkbride in wildest Cumbria. Champagne corks popped and Dr Paul lived up to his promise of a champagne breakfast. The sun was shining too, which may or may not be a good sign. Spirits were high, despite the early hour and we piled unceremoniously into the minibus, bound for Penrith and Liverpool. For some this was a first foray to riding in the high mountains on the continent, for others such as myself it was a welcome return to a fantastic playground. The excitement mounted as we approached an overcast John Lennon airport. Our driver double checked the locking wheelnuts as we unloaded the bike bags and suitcases before heading for the joys of the check-in queue. Easyjet welcomed us aboard and before we knew it we were speeding south on our flight to Geneva. The adventure was now well and truly begun. The sun was shining as we landed in Switzerland, and the Alpine heat felt warm and rather lovely. Great cycling weather. Mountain Goat Kev was already in situ, having flown out a couple
of days earlier, and greeted us as we piled through immigration and headed for baggage collection to see whether our bikes had made it in one piece. Alpine Kev was there to greet us and take us round Lac Leman (Geneva) and into the mountains for our first night at his mountain base, up above Morzine. The drive round the north side of the lake took us past Lausanne (home of the UCI) and Montreux (inspiration of Smoke on the Water) with the big mountains looking out of now ominous looking clouds. After a brief photo stop and a chance to do a bit of advertising for Alpine Kev, who is looking at the commercial aspects of this trip with a keen business eye, we drove into a heavy rain storm and up into the mountains. Welcome to the Alps! Decamping at Kev’s rather pleasant chalet in La Chapelle d’Abondance, we soon relaxed and turned our thoughts to bike mantling. The garage was a hive of hectic activity as wheels, skewers, handlebars and frames were all transformed into fine-tuned road machines, ready for Le Grand Depart next morning. Kentish Ian had arrived the previous day and had managed to squeeze in some sneaky extra training on the bike ahead of our arrival. We were expecting big things from him tomorrow as a result. Time for some chow, and we decamped to the pub. Home brew at that. And good food too. The diet starts tomorrow! Saturday, June 27th Day 1: La Chapelle d’Abondance - St Nicholas la Chapelle And so it begins. The condemned team ate a hearty breakfast and Alpine Kev gave us a briefing about route and logistics. The key to today’s ride was the first 35km, all downhill, to Thonon on the shores of Lac Leman. Now, that is my kind of a warm-up. We bade La Chapelle a fond farewell and stretched our cycling legs on the road at last. Our peloton made short work of the first stage, taking less than an hour to reach Thonon, the sun breaking through to greet us.
Truthfully, Thonon was the proper start to our epic journey, but we first had to find the lake. You would think being quite big and wet it would be easy to spot, but it took us a good 10 minutes to find a road down to the water’s edge, and a suitable café stop. After all, it would be churlish to simply turn round and leave having just arrived. And, of course, the bikes needed a ceremonial dipping into the water before our journey began. By 11.30 we were heading away from Thonon, the road leading south for the next 700 kilometers before we would encounter another big expanse of water. Out of Thonon the road begins its inexorable upward curve, with the start of our first col, the rather gentle Col de Jambaz. This is a big-ring climb, never much more than 3 or 4%, wandering up for some 25km to a rather inauspicious summit at 1027m. The scenery here was gentle rather than dramatic, but as an introduction it was perfect. In addition, the pattern was being set at the front of the peloton with the climbers bent on tearing up the climb as fast as possible, honour at stake. Others amongst us preferred the more sedate grupetto approach and chose to look at some of the beautiful countryside as we rode. As for me, I have now perfected the art of mobile photography and the first of what was to be a large selection of photographs were soon in the bag (or camera). And in any case, my time would come on the descents. There is something immensely satisfying about a long, fast descent, be it Alpine or Pyrenean. The sweeping lines and consistent road surface make this part of the ride both exhilarating and fun. Sadly it alwys seems to come to an end all too soon.
Jambaz is no different, and before long we were down in the valley, following the river toward Cluses. By now our body clocks were suggesting a light lunch might be good and we stopped in Marignier at a suitable establishment where steak-frites seemed to be the order of the day. Just what you need before a long hard ascent - NOT. Good though. Next up was the rather more serious Col de la Colombiere. It started innocently enough with most of the team missing the turning in Scionzier, and the early slopes were misleadingly gentle. Talk about a sting in the tale, this climb really gets nasty and the final 4km are a total grind, the summit visible all the while, almost tauntingly. Great scenery though. At last, the top and a chance to relax. Finally, Big Paul arrived and it was team photo time, of course - this was to become a regular thing. Now for the next descent, much faster this time down to Le Grand-Bornand. We were now on the route soon to be taken by the Tour de France when they arrive in the Alps in 3 weeks. I suspect they will find this a bit easier than we did, though it is a Category 1 climb. No sooner were we down, reaching St Jean de Sixt, a bustling town which seemed to be mid-rush hour, than we were climbing again. The final col of the day was the Aravis, a gentler climb than Colombiere. The team soon split again, the mountain men intent on breaking each other in the sprint for the summit cafe. My approach being more sedate, interspersed with photo opportunities, I followed them up in due course and finally came to the summit, a bit like a scene from a wild west movie. The end of our day was now in sight (metaphorically, that is), with just the 11km descent down to Flumet to come. Oh, I do love these descents - I think I might have mentioned that before. On with the handlebar-mounted videocam to capture the moment and down we went. Our bed for the night was at the Hotel du Vivier in St Nicholas la Chapelle, a short (but stiff) climb out of Flumet - nobody mentioned this on the itinerary, and after a long day in the saddle it came as a bit of a shock. Still, the welcome was warm and the beer cool, so life was good. Total distance: 150.85km, ascent 2492m. Major climbs: Col de Jambaz (25.3km, 630m of ascent at 2.5%) Col de la Colombiere (16.3km, 1108m of ascent at 6.8%) Col des Aravis (10.5km, 528m of ascent at 5.0%) Sunday, June 28th Day 2: St Nicolas la Chapelle - Val d’Isere This looked a tough day on paper, and so it proved to be. As we threw the shutters open the alpine views in early morning sunshine lifted the spirits. This was what we had signed up for. As for the road, well the only way is up. Actually, not entirely true as we did get a freebie first kilometer back down to Flumet before crossing the deep ravine and embarking on the climb of the Col des Saisies. Although early, the sun was warming the day and it was clearly going to
be a hot one. Farmer Alex was new to this game and struggled to get his rhythm, probably not helped by frequent views of alpine cattle in the fields. The fast boys were gone. I played with my camera. This was a most enjoyable climb, alpine meadows and rugged scenery interrupting the tarmac. The col is home to a ski village and lacks the charm of many conventional passes. A wide tarmac road sweeps across the plateau, hardly a romantic vision. But, a col is a col and this one was duly ticked off. Incidentally, another Tour de France col as well. A coffee stop called us and we decamped to a summit bar where the potato waffles and café noir slipped down a treat. There followed yet another glorious descent to the village of Beaufort, interrupted by some amazing views of the high snow-clad mountains which were jaw-dropping in the extreme. Beaufort was a pretty village, colourful and typically picturesque. And it had a cracking charcuterie where the cakes were eagerly snapped up by those team members who were not yet on a climber’s diet. The original itinerary had us climbing via the Col du Pre from this point to drop down to the Lac de Roselend before tackling the Cormet de Roselend. The weaker willed amongst our party were already breaking under the strain of the climbs and opted, almost to a man, for the somewhat easier option of a direct climb to the Cormet de Roselend, eschewing the immensely difficult and steep Col du Pre. Mountain Kev and I were the only two who were unflinching and resolved to tackle the full route without so much as a batted eyelid. We were hard! Rather like the Col du Pre. The first few kilometres are straightforward enough, a few hairpins and we were cruising into the village of Areches. Then the road reaches to the sky and the climb begins to assume an altogether different character.
The hairpins climb the steep flanks of the mountain relentlessly, the gradient sticking around 10% for the full 8km. And it was hot, so hot. On the other hand, the views were stupendous, and the camera worked overtime. Finally, long after Kev, I topped out and celebrated our success. Over the crest the views of the Lac more than compensated for our efforts. This was THE wow moment of the whole week. No question. Shame the other lads missed it, but hey, they can always come back another time... A quick descent and we were cruising over the Roselend dam with some startlingly good mountain scenery all around us. Ahead was yet another climb - I was beginning to understand the nature of this Alpine Raid now, either you are going up or you’re going down. There is no in-between. The heat was pretty oppressive now, but it was steady climbing up and on to the Cormet summit where the promised café turned out to be a hastily erected traders stand with sweetmeats and a few cans. Not quite the sumptuous lunch I had dreamed of. Ah well... The descent to Bourg St Maurice was an interesting mix of fast straight sections, and hugely technical switchbacks through forest. This was made irritating by getting stuck behind a rather timid Peugeot driver who insisted on taking each hairpin like it was about to bite his head off, but the straights were too short for me to get past. We even had to content with a stretch of uphill - now how does that work when you are descending? Finally though we rolled into Bourg
and headed straight for a restaurant. Lunch called. It was only 4pm after all. Beer and tartiflette, a magnificent combination. Now this is the life. And it put off what was to come which was a rather unpleasant 31km climb to Val d’Isere, our destination for the day. Eventually we could delay no longer and the boys were back on the road, the peloton speeding along the valley toward the start of the long, long climb. Not that it was steep, it was just that coming at the back end of a hard day it was difficult to approach it with enthusiasm. And there were precious few views to tantalise or excite. In short, it was crap. I passed a German cycle tourist who was loaded down with panniers on his panniers, and immediately felt a surge of well-being. It was shortlived. A last drag up to Tignes and the pretty Lac du Chevril raised my spirits as the mountain scenery finally unfolded and the road entered a series of tunnels. These were disconcerting as the noise of traffic in here was magnified to scary proportions, even over the music on my iPod. Finally I was through and descending the short drop into Val d’Isere. It had been a very long climb. As I stopped to take some photos Kentish Ian rode up the valley behind me and we finished the day together, riding shotgun for the rest of the team. More beer was required. And food. And a shower. And a long lie down. Total distance: 116.5km, ascent 3369m. Major climbs: Col des Saisies (14.7km, 750m of ascent at 5.1%) Col du Pre (12.2km, 1008m of ascent at 8.3%) Cormet de Roselend (8km, 363m of ascent at 4.5%) Val d’Isere (31km, 1012m of ascent at 3.3%) Monday, June 29th Day 3: Val d’Isere - Susa (Italy) This weather is becoming rather predictable. We awoke yet again to clear blue skies and pristine Alpine mountains sparkling all around us. Even the sterility of Val d’Isere was somehow less clinical in the early morning glory. The condemned team ate a hearty breakfast ahead of what was to be our highest climb yet over the mighty Col de l’Iseran. This is an alpine giant, topping out at 2770m (that’s over 9000 feet in old money). A daunting prospect. The good news is that we are already more than halfway up after last night’s epic climb. Big Paul jumped the gun and set off early, and I followed his example. As one of the slower climbers in the team, and with the added handicap of a very active camera, I knew a good lead would come in handy. Sure enough, before I had climbed 5km I could see the peloton eating up the tarmac and
bearing up on me. As climbs go, this was a real classic. If only the previous evening had been like this. It was just one spectacular view after another. Snow covered peaks glistened and the road invited, the terrain gradually changing from lush alpine pastures to bare rock as we approached to 2500m contour. The last couple of kilometres were tough but finally I came triumphantly to the summit and basked in the glory of it all. The other guys were trying hard to take it all in too. Neither words nor pictures can do it justice. It was pretty damn good. After the usual round of summit photos, and a few mutterings that the summit bar/café wasn’t open, it was time for what was probably the best descent of the whole trip. It would be nice to go up and do it again, without stopping. The problem? So many fantastic views that screamed out for another bloody photo. It would be rude not to, of course. As we swept down the mountain we passed ski fields where people were still ski-ing - at the end of June, for heaven’s sake! Down in the valley, a few minutes later half our team regrouped and sought out a café for a much needed brew. The village of Bonneval-sur-Arc was quaint and pretty, and had a great cafe. Result. Not sure what happened to the rest of the guys but we enjoyed our break before heading off, grupetto-style down the vallet toward Lanslevillard and the foot of the Col du Mont Cenis. This was a rare interlude during a week of much up and down, a relatively flat bit of tarmac, and a tail-wind. What fun. The rest of the guys were waiting for us in
Lanslevillard, seemingly unconcerned that we might have plummeted into a ravine on the Iseran descent. No matter, we were regrouped for the climb, though that scarcely seemed to matter as Kentish Ian and I made our way to the back. The ascent of the Mont Cenis is a lovely climb, though, and took us now toward Italy. The summit café was open and merited a lengthy stop for food and beer. More tartiflette was the order of the day and when it came we were snowed under with 3 huge casseroles of the stuff. Definitely five-star service. By now the clouds were building and there was thunder in the air as we set off for the descent to Italy. Again, we were treated to some stunning views and wonderfully technical roads (that’s French for bendy). As Kentish Ian and I sped round one corner at about 60kph, a van driver urged us to slow down. The next corner showed why as we were confronted by a huge herd of cows being driven up to summer pastures. That tested the brakes! The Italian border came and went, there was no call for our passports, and we now hurtled down into the valley far below. This was probably one of the longest descents so far, and the road was beautiful. Smooth and gentle curves, with the odd hairpin thrown in. Even Mountain Kev was enjoying himself, and he would be the first to tell you how he dislikes descending. His reputation as the only rider all week to average a faster speed Uphill than down was only a slight exaggeration. Finally, we rode into the border town of Susa as the rain started and the thunder rumbled all around the valley. Good timing - shame we had to ride round and round the
town several times before we finally located the hotel. Sadly my Italian is about as good as my Swahili and our host’s mastery of English (not good) put my language skills to shame. But it was a friendly place and they gave us beer. Out on the town, after the rain we stumbled on a bar and insisted on sitting outside (these strange Inglese). Beer and coffee was followed, bizarrely, by tapas (unasked for) and then we were royally entertained by a street hawker intent on selling us expensive rubbish. That is, it was cheap rubbish, but euro-inflation meant he wanted outlandish prices for it. Big Paul succumbed when he saw the megaphone and was relieved of 8 euros for the privilege. It haunted us for the remainder of the trip as Woody would follow us in the van blaring out orders and music over the tannoy. Sadly, no-one did manage to remove the batteries... Total distance: 89.5km, ascent 1787m. Major climbs: Col de l’Iseran (17km, 937m of ascent at 5.5%) Col du Mont Cenis (10km, 682m of ascent at 6.9%) Tuesday, June 30th Day 4: Susa - Ste Marie de Vars After the thunder and rain of last night we were yet again treated to blue skies and great alpine views as we pulled back the shutters. It was going to be another hot one. Italian traffic is far more frenetic than our experience in France so far, and attempts to take team photos outside the hotel bordered on the farcical as the rush hour traffic sped past. Finally it was time to check tyres, mix drinks bottles and hit the road. First up was a stiff little climb out of Susa heading south-west toward Cesana. Once into the high valley we rode, for a change, at steady touring pace, as a group. Well, two groups, anyway. The motorway followed us, spectacularly in
places and we passed the town of Exilles with its amazing 12th century fort. Another climb higher into the valley and we came to the impossibly spelt village of Oulx. Coffee time. The sun beat down and temperatures were soaring toward 30 degrees. Ahead was the Col de Montgenevre and a return to France, where I could speak the lingo again. From Cesana the road twists upward through a series of tunnels toward ski country, before turning sharp right through a massive long tunnel which emerged into French countryside and, finally, the ski village Montgenevre on the summit. The café here was run by an anglais and he persuaded us that lunch would be a good idea. The guys were already sipping cokes when Big Paul and I arrived, firmly embedded in huge cushions which would, I surmised, be very difficult to climb out of at the end of our stay. They did look comfortable though. The salads were splendid, the beer cool and the ambience pleasant. Sadly we had to press on, though not before it became obvious that nobody had actually crossed the top of the col yet. I saw my chance and cycled the 200m through the village to the sign and claimed my moment of (unwitnessed) glory. Another col, another descent. This was fast, a wide ski access road made for long straight sections, made more interesting by the traffic which was so terribly slow through the corners. Overtaking the lorry was interesting... The roman town of Briançon is reputedly the second highest city in Europe at just over 1300m (the highest I am informed is Davos - never heard of it). It has a spectacular cobbled climb at its heart but we chose to ignore this today, we had bigger fish to fry in the form of the Col d’Izoard, another colossal climb. The day was now baking hot (well over 30 degrees) and yet again we
were embarking on a long climb. I think our planning needs a bit of working on here. The lower reaches of the climb are through gentle river valley and woodland but gradually the road rises into alpine forest and finally out on to rugged mountain rock. By this time the team were spread all over the mountain, yet again the weight of my camera taking me near the back. The last few hairpins to the summit were an emotional mix of iPod music and dramatic mountain and the team were there cheering us to the top. I turned to grab a few shots of Kentish Ian and Big Paul as they came up to equally big cheers. Team photo time, and a souvenir shop relieved us of a few euros before the long descent south through La Casse Deserte, an amazing desert of rock formations which were doubly dramatic under the now cloudy skies. A lightning bolt struck the hillside nearby as Kev and I stopped for photos. Time to be not here, we thought. The foot of the descent brought us to the Queyras Gorge, a snaking narrow road along the rocky wall of a deep gorge through the mountains. By now the rain had receded, but it was still gloomy and this added to the sense of drama here. A rather insane coach driver brought his 50 seater through one of the narrow tunnels and tried manfully to fit it under a rock overhang. We watched in awe as he wedged his bus against the rock wall, a 200 foot drop beckoning. You have to question the intelligence of some drivers. Not sure what the 50 or so tourists were thinking inside, but I bet a few of them were just wondering whether their wills were up to date! All that remained today was yet another long climb from Guillestre up the first part of the Col de Vars, reminiscent of the haul up to Val d’Isere. The difference this time is that we had no idea just how far or how much climbing was involved. Suffice to say I was running on empty and resorted to gel power to propel me those last few kilometres to Ste Marie de Vars, a welcome welcome in the hillside. Give me beer! And a bed... Total distance: 125km, ascent 3346m. Major climbs: Col du Montgenevre (9km, 500m of ascent at 5.6%) Col d’Izoard (20km, 1141m of ascent at 5.7%) Col de Vars (part) (12km, 600m of ascent at 5.0%) Wednesday, July 1st Day 5: Ste Marie de Vars - Auron You guessed it. Another sunny day. More sunblock required. I have to confess to a restless night for today we hit the roof of the Alps, the Col de la Bonette, rising to a massive 2802m. This would be a testing day. First up though was the remainder of the climb of the Col de Vars. In a smart move I stole another march on the rest of the team and set off early, riding alone up through the gentle and strangely green valley toward the summit. This was a truly lovely climb
and I was fast approaching the summit before any of the protagonists caught me. I turned to see the two Kevins (Mountain Goat and KMB versions) slugging it out for the mountain points. I stopped to capture some intimate photos as they approached. Mountain Goat Kev took the honours. As for me, I was just behind to enjoy the summit views and browse the little souvenir kiosk by the col sign as we waited for the others. This was an unusual feeling for me, strangely satisfying. As we prepared for another wonderful descent, the word from ahead on the road was that there was a closure further down the valley, as they were blasting. This would mean an enforced coffee stop until they opened the road to let the queues of traffic through. Not much we could do, so we enjoyed the fast descent to St Paul sur Ubaye and sought out a café to while away the hour or so. Half the team sped straight past St Paul and we saw nothing more of them until much later in the day. Somehow they rode the gauntlet of the roadwork engineers (not without some hassle) and before long were down in Jausiers, at the foot of the Bonette, apparently
waiting for us. Ah well. We settled in for some serious philosophical discussions about sheep and the Cumbrian fell farmers until the clock ticked round and we ambled down to see what all the fuss was about. The queue was pretty enormous, and just as we arrived the roadblock was lifted and we simply sailed through, ahead of the motorised peloton. Ahead was a 15km descent to Jausiers, a finish town on last year’s Tour de France (and apparently still living off the back of it), but more significantly the starting point of the climb of the mighty Col de la Bonette. Food and beer was needed. What followed was a mixture of pain and joy, the ultimate climb. 25.5km in length and climbing some 1600m, I had already worked out it would probably take me the neck end of 2½ hours, the challenge was as much mental as it was physical. The heat of the day was abating slightly as the clouds began to roll in and my big fear was the potential of rain or worse. Some of the guys had already begun the climb, others were behind me. We were literally strung out all over the mountain. Woody was awesome in his support as he checked everybody’s progress, offering water for those who needed it. I keep mentioning the scenery, after all this is the Alps and the scenery is both big and beautiful. This climb was no exception with so many extremes. From wooded valley to alpine meadows to stark exposed high mountain rock, it had everything. And that meant more bloody photos of course. Eventually I approached the summit cone where the
authorities had added the extra circuit road to the top making this the highest pass in Europe. The sting in the tail was that this little excursion was incredibly steep. - they are true sadists. Finally, after just 2 hours and 18 minutes of climbing I topped outand rejoiced. Made it. Quick, someone take a photo before I fall over! All that remained now was the little matter of a 25km descent, the difficulty being that the rain was now pretty imminent. It was a question of getting as far off the top as possible before it hit. Sadly, this translated into not very far and before very long I was riding down a river, my brake blocks being tested to the limit. Rain, bikes and Alpine roads do not mix well and what should have been the most enjoyable descent of the week turned into a real horror. By about half way down my fingers were so numb I lost all feeling and had to stop to massage some life back into them. Somehow, eventually I came down to the Tinée valley and headed down to St Etienne and the café where everyone was reassembling to recall their own private horror stories. Mountain Goat Kev and I sat shivering in the bar grasping mugs of hot chocolate, trying to coax some life back into our hands and warm up enough to feel human again. Then, quite suddenly, we noticed that the sun was out again. That’s just not cricket. All that remained now was the last few kilometres to Auron. What was not clear at this stage was just how much up was involved (at the end of the day, again!). Auron is a ski village and as such has to be high on the mountain. That’s not good. And the climb was pretty steep to boot. A grupetto formed and we took it easy before, finally, rolling into Auron in the rain (once again). The Hotel Squirrel was a welcome in the hillside, the beer from the bar was special. And our hostess for the evening was a real character, the highlight being the way she instructed us in how to drink wine - as if we needed help! Total distance: 90.5km, ascent 2526m. Major climbs: Col de Vars (8.4km, 500m of ascent at 5.9%) Col de la Bonette (25km, 1589m of ascent at 6.6%) Thursday, July 2nd Day 6: Auron - Roquebillaire You can almost smell the Mediterranean now. The terrain is changing, almost imperceptibly, and we are now moving into the Alpes Maritime. After the rain of yesterday’s stage, many felt a spot of DIY maintenance on the bikes was required, so they asked Woody if he would kindly help them out. Woody, being Woody, seemed only too glad to help and the scene outside the hotel was frantic oiling, tightening and banging for an hour or so. Those of us who had well maintained bikes twiddled our thumbs and mixed PSP22 drinks to while away the time. Finally all were ready and the peloton moved out. First up was the enjoyable descent back down to the main road, taken leisurely as we let Mountain Goat Kev lead the way and demonstrate his new found descending
skills. There then followed an increasingly pacy ride down the valley past Isola to St-Sauveur-sur-Tinée. The leading group looked like they were practising for the team time trial, the rest of us rode at a more sedate 40kph, after all there was still some scenery to enjoy. A St Sauveur a coffee stop was called for before the day’s only big climb. Sadly, St Sauveur was doing a good impression of being closed and it took all our skills and some great effort to track down a café which was both open and happy to serve us some boissons. Perhaps they don’t get many cycle tourists round here. Shortly aftert his, and after a few more flat kilometres along the valley we arrived at the foot of the Col de St Martin. The team regrouped before heading upwards, with increasingly spectacular views down the Tinée valley. The day was hot (33 degrees) and the climb wound its way up through wooded slopes toward yet another ski-dominated col village where I finally arrived to find the team enjoying a drink at the bar. What a good idea. Eventually the others arrived (I wasn’t last for a change) and after some deliberations it was agreed that lunch would be good. And it was. Excellent, in fact. Madame was very attentive and the food filled a hole along with the beer and a glass of rosé. By now the clouds were gathering - this was becoming a daily occurrence - and some of the team were anxious to head down. Today was our shortest day and all that remained was a relatively short descent into the valley and a ride down to our hotel. The descent was fun, twisting and winding down to St Martin Vésubie and on down to Roquebillaire. We were in the hotel by 4, and not a moment too soon, as the electrical storm that hit about 5 minutes later was torrential. So what did the guys do? They went for a dip in the hotel’s outdoor pool. I have to say I preferred the cycling-on-TV option. Total distance: 71.7km, ascent 1053m. Major climb: Col de St Martin (17km, 1018m of ascent at 6.2%) Friday, July 3rd Day 7: Roquebillaire-Monte Carlo Our last day, the culmination of our epic ride. To celebrate, Big Paul had conjured up a bit of entertainment to start the day. The previous evening, over a beer or two, the concept of an Australian Pursuit style time trial up the day’s first climb emerged and gradually took shape. Paul himself manfully took the responsibility of calculating the handicaps for each rider and, surprisingly, gave himself a 30 minute start over the scratch rider, unanimously agreed to be Whistling Peter. The rest of us were given random times somewhere between the two. I perhaps felt that I should be allocated a few minutes extra photography time, but this was not considered. No matter, the camera would not be forsaken, even at the expense of a glorious victory. The climb itself was the Col de Turini, a 15½km ascent, rising some 1100m. Non-trivial then. Not your average 10 mile time trial by any means. We had a short downhill warm-up from
Roquebillaire to the start, where we gathered and everybody began their preparations. Big Paul was first away, cheered off, topless and obviously meaning business. The rest of us sat down and pondered the meaning of life as timekeeper Woody (a new string to his bow?) watched the ticking clock before, finally, setting me off, second on the road. Whilst never admitting that I would entertain the idea of going all out to win, I have to say I probably rode the climb more assertively than any other climb all week. Not that this would stop me taking photos, indeed I stopped a couple of times as the views back down the hairpins grabbed me. I could see fellow competitors further back down the road, but it was almost impossible to gauge how close they were getting. I rode on, fully expecting to be caught and passed. The summit came nearer, the clock ticked away. No sign of Big Paul, and there was Ian a couple of hairpins below me. I pushed on a bit harder, the summit was just up ahead now. And then, round the final corner and there was Woody, on the line, watch in hand. Across the line in 1 hour 18 minutes, just a minute behind Big Paul. A few minutes later the battle royal between Dr Mike and Whistling Peter unfolded, their faces etched with effort and determination. Much to Peter’s consternation, Mike won the battle within the battle and will now dine out on this for years to come. I suspect the photo I took of his moment of triumph now adorns his office wall. As for Peter, well he can no longer claim the title King of the Mountain time trial and Sunday Club Runs will enjoy reminding him of this for many a long winter. After a lengthy post-mortem over cokes in the summit café, we learnt that, yet again, we were faced with a road closure and had to formulate a change of route. We took the rather enjoyable road along the crest of our mountain range to Peira-Cava before turning down onto an amazing
road which snaked its way spectacularly via a series of corniche hairpins, then over the Col de l’Orme and finally dropping down to the Col de Braus. This is an engineering marvel with a sparkling series of hairpins which we now swept down before taking a small side road up to the Col de Castillon, our last col of the Alpine traverse. Next stop was the Med. But not before lunch which we took in the rather picturesque village of Castillon itself. Beer and pizzas all round, whilst Alex tended to his tyre. Bizarrely, having managed to ride all week, the ten of us had suffered no punctures or tyre trouble, only for us to pick up 2 punctures and a split tyre in the space of an hour on this last day. Alex’s tyre was in a bad way and would not have been good for the final descent to Menton. This was it then. One final, sweeping ride down from Castillon on the road to Menton took us to into traffic and a whole new world. The Alps were now, finally, behind us. Ahead was only sea and the bustle of the Mediterranean coastal strip. Menton welcomed us, but rather than heading straight for the beach, we turned west and hit the hectic coast road to Monaco and Monte Carlo. Cars, motor bikes and white vans filled the air, irritated by the sight of ten lycra lads. One motorbike sped past and glanced my back wheel, spilling his helmet (which he wasn’t wearing) on the road. Luckily I stayed upright. Then we came over Cap-Martin and ahead and below us
was Monaco. Our destination. The end of our journey. Soon we were riding intop town along the route of the Tour de France time trial course, freshly resurfaced. Then it was down the Boulevard JFK (where the Formula One cars race up from the start of the Grand Prix) to arrive at the harbour. Traffic everywhere, noise and bustle. A race was taking place on the time trial course, we sat and wondered what next when Woody arrived with the van and trailer and before you could say Lance Armstrong we were loaded up and heading out of town to our hotel up at Berres les Alpes, some 30 kilometres up in the mountains. It was all a tad anti-climatic, but didn’t detract from what we had done. We sat with a beer and discussed the adventures of the last week, our ups and downs (literally) and the wonders we had seen. It had been a hard ride, not without suffering. But the rewards - the views and the descents particularly - made it so, so enjoyable. Job done. Cheers guys. And thanks. Total distance: 85.5km, ascent 1577m. Major climb: Col de Turini (15.5km, 1100m of ascent at 7.1%) Part 2: Le Grand Depart, Tour de France Saturday, July 4th Day 8: Tour de France, Monaco There is something really rather satisfying about getting up and knowing you don’t have to ride your bike. After 7 straight days on the bike, covering some 730km and over 16,000m of climbing, and with more than a little discomfort, the prospect of sitting on something other than a saddle was something to get a bit smug about. And on top of that we were going to get to see the Tour de France in some style. This was good. Our hotel, Beausejour,
was situated rather grandiosely in the village square high on a mountain top in Berres les Alpes and the morning views were stunning. Sunshine again greeted us and we enjoyed a typical French breakfast outside at our usual table, still smarting from the copious amounts of alcohol consumed with supper the night before. Two nights here would go down very nicely. The plan was complicated. With 10 of us heading for Monaco, and with Woody finally (and sadly) leaving us bound for the UK, the logistics of our travel were not easy. We split into two groups, some going by train, the rest of us taking Woody to Nice airport and then getting the train from Nice Central. After some hiccups along the way we eventually congregated in a café outside Ste Devote, less than 200m from the stage start on Monaco’s harbour. The atmosphere was already building, with thousands of cycling devotees heading for this small principality to watch the best cyclists in the world commence battle. Today’s stage was a 15.5km time trial starting and finishing here in the harbour, taking in part of the Grand Prix circuit. Favourites included our very own Bradley Wiggins and David Millar, as well as Mr Time Trial himself, Fabian Cancellara. What I love about events like this is that the humble fans are free to wander in amongst the teams, enjoying the sight of riders rolling into the start, and watching many of them warming up, posing for photos and signing autographs. The media frenzy outside the Astana team area was not unexpected, Lance Armstrong is big news even if his chances today are for no more than a top ten finish. Mark Cavendish, our very own jersey hope, rolled in past the grandstand looking very casual. This was not his event, he would be saving himself for later in the week.
Everywhere you looked there were street stalls selling ‘official’ merchandise, a reminder that at the end of it all this is a huge commercial exercise. I indulged - well, you have to, don’t you? As 4 o’clock approached the excitement reached a crescendo and I joined the throng near the start gate to watch the first few riders. At 4 precisely the first one launched down the ramp and the 2009 Tour was underway. I have no idea who he was, but 18th of the ramp was a certain American, the noise reached a huge climax. Lance had returned. As riders continued to head off round the course I wandered round to see it all from different vantage points. Our very own team were settled in the grandstand with a fine view of the riders as they came to the finish, and with the giant screen in front of them keeping them up to date with the latest standings. Lance set the fastest time, though it was not to last. David Millar had a huge speed wobble on a descent but still posted 5th fastest as he crossed the line. How would Bradley fare? As the clock ticked by I returned to watch Cav set off on his 20 minutes of pain before we all congregated ready to catch the train out of town. Before long we were back in Berres les Alpes and settled round our outside table, enjoying the food, beer and wine al fresco. This was the prefect antidote to our 7 days of suffering. Tommorow we would have one last chance to savour the Tour before heading home. By now we had learned that the stage had been won by Mr Cancellara (no surprises there, then), with Wiggins finishing a credible 3rd. Armstrong ended up 10th overall, not bad for an old man. Sunday, July 5th Day 9: Tour de France, Nice Our last day in France, and the sun was shining yet again. One last breakfast outside, then it was time to load the trailer and van with our bikes and cases. The only slight problem was that there was room for 9 and we were 10. Kentish Ian was volunteered the chance for one last bike ride and headed off down the mountain on Alpine Kev’s bike, bound for the railway station down in the valley. Mountain Goat Kev watched in horror as his bikebag was then carefully balanced on the roof of the bus and we piled inside armed with some string to keep hold of the bike as we careered down the many hairpins to catch Ian up. He was not a happy bunny. And I can’t say I blame him - if it were my bike.... Once again a group of us caught the train whilst the rest travelled by bus. The train was clean, smart and on time and the four of us rolled down into Nice. Nice on a Sunday was far calmer than it had been yesterday, and we strolled casually down the main thoroughfare toward the Promenade des Anglais and the sea. The Tour was due to run through here in a couple of hours, a hotspot sprint taking place here on the Promenade. The crowds were already gathering and as we sought out a suitable café, the publicity caravan started to roll through. This is the commercial arm of the Tour where companies pay to throw advertising trinkets at the crowds who, in turn, scrabble like 3 year olds to pick up the bits and bobs. These range from keyrings to t-shirts and caps, mostly rubbish, but the odd worthwhile things as well. I found a suitable
location and joined in, at one point eyeballing a chinese gentleman who had the other end of a strange ballon-thing I had grabbed off the floor. It was almost pathetic. Time for beer, coffee and finally some lunch. In Nice it seems appropriate to partake of a salade Nicoise, after where else would you choose to eat one? And it was good. Halfway through this tasty morsel we heard the helicopters and the outriders sped through, the Tour was on its way. We had one more swig of beer, got up and wondered across the road to watch as first the breakaway, then the peloton cruised through. Blink and you would have missed it. In about a minute it was all over. And it was back to the salad. Cool though. Before long the crowds had dispersed and the authorities began to dismantle the barriers. That was it for another year. Tour mania was moving on along the coast, Nice was getting back to normal. And that was basically it. Peter, Mountain Goat Kev and I took the opportunity to pick our way through the flesh on the hot pebbly beach (such as there was of it) to paddle in the Mediterranean and complete our journey from Geneva. Then we scoured the side streets in search of an ice cream parlour to enjoy a rather expensive cone (euro inflation has hiked the prices here quite chronically). Then it was time to head for the airport where the Tour managed to deliver one last twist. As we reluctantly handed over all our CO2 cartridges - Nice airport having decided that they are not safe to carry on planes, contrary to most other French airports - we learnt that our flight had been delayed, along with all others, by 90 minutes due to some bike race causing air traffic control to close airspace over Nice for an hour and a half. Oh, the irony of it all.... | |
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