I've been asked why I feel the need to go all the way to France to visit the Alps when we have the Sierra Nevada mountains our backyard. Or the Rockies.
Meant to post this in 2015--apparently never hit "publish"?
The Alps are majestic. Awe-inspiring. More like Yosemite or the Grand Canyon than just a mountain range. Sure, the Sierra Nevada's and the Rockies are higher (quite a bit higher), but they don't have the visual impact, to my mind, that the Alps have. Pictures cannot do them justice. They rise straight up from the valley floor, towering over everything. They're truly magnificent. Plus, they have many decades of cycling history
We stayed just outside of Bourg d'Oisans at the bed & breakfast of Alan and Lynne Coldray:
They have four rooms, room for 8 visitors. I can't remember how I happened to find them in my many Google searches, but they were a wonderful discovery. This year, 2010, will be their first full season. They run a great little place, are great cooks, and have incredible knowledge of the area. Oh, and they speak English--a HUGE plus. I would recommend them highly to anyone venturing to that part of the world. Friendly, good company, great. They're good people and good things will happen for them.
The Alps didn't go quite as well as we'd hoped. After several weeks of 80's and 90's and clear blue sky, mother nature decided to rain on our parade. We arrived Monday and planned to ride Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. The goals were to ride the route of a famous "cyclosportive" called Le Marmotte, and to do the climb of the Col d'Izoard from the south side--both things that we didn't manage to accomplish when last there in 2006.
It rained a little bit on Monday night. We were hopeful it would clear.
It didn't.
It rained all day Tuesday. I sulked. Linda tried to keep me cheery. I was a poop. Dinner at the Coldray's was good though.
I convinced myself that, rain or shine, I'd do the Marmotte route on Wednesday. I brought my rain gear, I figured why not use it??
A couple of problems. 1) I felt like crud from the first pedal strokes. 2) rain gear doesn't keep you dry.
I was just wasted from the start, don't know why. Just no power, every little effort got my heart pounding. Maybe it was the two days without riding since Ventoux, maybe it was diet (no M&M's in at least 5 days--did you know they don't sell plain M&M's in France?).
In the end, I struggled through 95 miles, or so, and the lure of the hotel was too great. I had to pass it on the way to the last pass and I folded it in.
Coming down Croix de Fer into St Jean de Maurienne, the rain was short of torrential. It was certainly steady--enough that the rain water was running in rivers along the road. The road bed itself was a bit rough in patches. It was difficult to see because of the low clouds, then my glasses started to fog up on top of that. I had to drop them to the tip of my nose so that I could see even a little bit. Then you'd come into a tunnel and have an ever oh so short respite before turning back into it again. The only good news was that there were very few cars to contend with. I didn't feel I was in their way, or they in mine. The water from the road and the rain washed my chain completely clean of any lube. By the time I was headed up the Galibier it was creaking and squeaking. I could see from my perch looking down at it that it was developing rust already.
The rain subsided a good bit by the time I got to St Jean de Maurienne. In fact, it looked like it was going to clear as I approached the Col du Telegraphe. I didn't get rained on the remainder of the ride.
After cresting the Telegraphe, I stopped in Valloire, between Telegraphe and Galibier for some water. While there I met a Danish couple that had been heading towards Galibier, as I was. Thye had called for a taxi because they had been told that it was snowing at the summit of Galibier. The wife didn't want to chance riding it, so they called a taxi. They passed me in the taxi on my way up. It was 1400 by this time, the report of snow was at 1200. I figured, as good as it looked on my way up the Telegraphe, Galibier ought to be clear by now.
I didn't run into any weather issues, though it did look a little threatening. I was still moving, though slowly and the sensations of earlier in the day had not subsided. I still felt like crap. Now the threat of cramping was rearing its head, too. I'd climbed Galibier before, from Col du Lautaret. I needed to do it from the Valloire side to complete the trip. It is an interesting climb in the last several kms. I liked it very much, were it not for the physical limitations I had that day, and the squeaky, creaky bike I was now riding. Got passed by some local--always t's me off. Fragile ego.
Up over the summit, just before the tunnel (which is closed to bicycles) the road was closed due to avalanche dangers. My options were to either keep going (you could easily maneuver around the barricade that had been erected), or to turn around and go back the way I'd come. I went around the barricade. The whole time I was thinking about Alan Coldray's warning that the French close roads and erect barricades because they're serious, and not out simply to disrupt cyclists' day out. It's not very far to the summit from the closure point, but the whole time all I could do was look at the snow on the sides of the road and listen for sounds of it loosening, or the sight of movement. Whew! Over the top, down a short distance to the closure from the other side and towards home.
It was very cold coming down the other side. Some tremendous views afforded by the breaks in the clouds and sun shining onto a small town down in the valley towards Briancon. I stopped for a moment and appreciated the view, but I didn't stay long enough to take a pic. I wanted to move on. It was a terrific ride down the Lautaret towards le Clapier and the B&B. I suffered on the few hills that are, in reality and under most circumstances, quite easy. I was beaten, battered, cooked, but almost dry by that time. The views were still magnificent and I tried to appreciate them. I thought about what it would take to do l'Alpe d'Huez, and thought I might still attempt, but calculated the time it would take to do so and thought better of it. Which, for me, was a big deal because I cannot stand quitting a planned route before it's complete.
I made the Croix de Fer, Telegraphe, Galibier--missed l'Alpe d'Huez at the end. Still an epic ride, got some hills I'd not seen before. But boy, I have to say, that the ride that day was the single worst day on a bike I have ever had. Ever. Well, except for that time out of Williams when I almost threw up. That was just the last half hour of that ride. THIS ride I was miserable the entire time.
We didn't do the Col d'Izoard on Thursday. We did a short ride, just 28 kms, and I was still feeling whipped, just like the day before. Meanwhile, Linda had done l'Alpe d'Huez the day before and was tuckered out.
And there was that little thing about wanting to avoid the rain (which we didn't manage to do 100%). I always avoided the rain in the past. Now I can say, with full conviction, that riding in the rain sucks. I ran in the rain occassionally and found some of those experiences euphoric. Not so riding the bike. I don't need rain gear. If it's raining, I'm not riding. The clothing made for it doesn't work anyway.
When we left Friday morning? Bright sunshine. Birds chriping. Flowers blooming.
Rats.
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