Our 3-col day.
2 July 2008, the valley of the Ubaye south of Barcelonnette, France. One of the "rest" days on an Erickson tour in the Maritime Alps. (Ha. A rest only in the sense of a respite from packing up every morning.)
120 km, 10,500 feet of climbing. On the tandem. Could we even do it?
Departed alone, just the two of us, at first light (can't remember what we did for breakfast, but ate lots of pasta as a first course the night before. And dessert, always dessert.)
First climb is to the Col d'Allos above tree line, not so bad, grind away in the 28 x 32, then descend a narrow one-lane road, but ribbon smooth, not classic hairpins, more like a pearl necklace thrown across an unmade bed. Road widens at the ski village which, seven years later, would be the Sapeurs-Pompiers ops base for the recovery effort for the German Wings murder-suicide flight that flew into the mountain wilderness nearby. Doing OK for time, not hungry so pressed on to Colmars. The left turn for the road to the Col des Champs looks like it has to be a farmer's lane. The D2 directional sign must surely be indicating a road further on, like in the centre of the village. Nope, this is it. Climb steeply, steepest so far, on broken, rutted chip-seal that is no longer sealed. Glad we're not descending it. Dense woods after several hairpins and much toil open above tree line again and some residual snow in the shadows over the top as we face north.
Very steep descent now on a proper wide French-smooth road but still scary fast. Brakes working hard. Long tiring descent to Saint-Martin-des-Entraunes and lunch at a little restaurant. The chef was pulling greens out of the garden for salad as we rolled up. Shared a table with two Swiss cyclists who had been thwarted by thunderstorms in two previous attempts to ride this loop. Just as we were finishing, Steve and Tim from our tour group arrived, having left hours after us, no doubt. They live in Colorado, superbly competent and always equipped for survival above 5000', where they do most of their riding. By this time everyone in our group had affectionately dubbed them "the Mountain Men" -- and this honour was bestowed by a group that largely hailed from the U.S. west coast where they know a thing or two about mountains themselves (unlike us flat-landers.) With one eye on the sky and the other on the clock they told us not to wait for them.
One more col to go. I think we're going to be able to do this. A long steady climb up toward the Col de Cayolle. Hot and humid now, and far below/behind us we can see, and soon hear, a thunderstorm making its leisurely way up the valley. As we climb, we realize that if it catches us, we're going to be up in it, not just under it. We can survive a cold rain but getting electrocuted would wreck our day. The storm is slowly gathering in the valley, rather than racing up it the way our familiar squalls do, so we think we might get over in time, "on the rivet". Back down into it doesn't seem sensible. Progress near the top is slow and tantalizing because of the
lacets in which you win a few metres at a time, but still mostly treed for shelter. Is the storm gaining on us? Steve and Tim pass us, making sure we have rain and cold gear -- we do -- and wish us luck.
Rear-Adm Mrs. C. never quits or quavers, churning out the revs on the back. She's more of a natural athlete than I am. And then we're over the top into the wide expanse of the pass. Brilliant sunshine, the mountain cirque sweeping up in both directions into blue sky. But two hikers coming down from higher up warn us,
"Il va pleuvoir." Do tell.
Orage, too,
sans doute. But not yet. We beat it. The road descends steeply at first, then settles down as it crosses the first major stream. And there are Steve and Tim, waiting for us making sure we got over OK. Bless their hearts. We ride together for a while but they are better descenders than we are, and so faster into the lovely densely forested valley on a small road as we roll back into Barcelonnette in time for 3 o'clock coffee.....just before the skies did open up with lightning, hail, and torrential rain.
The most rewarding riding day ever. I'm sure we'll never again do a ride like that. 120 km is no sweat, but the climbing was
hard! Ten years later, we reprised that tour for Glenn's retirement -- likely our last European bike tour -- and decided that even though we still enjoyed the climbing at our own pace and never felt exhausted, 10,000 feet just wouldn't be fun. We did climb the Col de la Bonnette, the highest paved through road in Europe, but that's not that hard because Barcelonnette is already so high to begin with. And to remind us that the mountains do make their own weather, we got caught in a thunderstorm (again fortunately when we were almost home) just for old times' sake.
With such a demanding ride, we didn't dally to take any photos that day. But our route out of Barcelonnette to our next destination two days later went back up over the Col de Cayolle in the reverse direction. So some pics of that day to remind us that it really did happen:
Setting the stage. "The Gendarme's Hat", from Barcelonnette
Threatening weather the day before.
Mrs. C. shoots from the stoker seat. Early in the climb to Col de Cayolle when the singles haven't dropped us yet.
Vertical country
The pass is to the left of the gray mountain, behind the trees.
Getting there. This bridge is where the Mountain Men were waiting for us.
The "bournes des kilometrage" have lots of useful information even though they're made of plastic now.. Two days earlier there was a mess of ugly weather just over and below that ridge in the background.
Two days earlier we were pointed in the opposite direction, and hadn't bought the "3-col" jerseys yet.
Thanks Tim and Steve, Knights of the Mountains, wherever you are.
Not looking too much the worse for wear the next day I think. (Souvenir jerseys from the bike shop in the plastic bag!)