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Day 0: Home - Dover 9.1 m / 14.6 k
"Where are all the women?" could have been the theme song for the bus trip to Lake Annecy. Nine other fellow travellers are on the European Bike Express - all men. I wonder why? Was it not, after all, a Mother Superior who sang, "Climb Every Mountain"?
The bus trip is uneventful and pleasant. There is just enough light to see that Luxembourg, though pretty and green, is not a flat country. Extra strength Tylenol helps us to get some sleep. As before, we bring our own dinner and buy water along the way for the next day. Bus stops twice for toilet and food breaks. The bikes are well treated and arrive unharmed.
Day 1: Epagny - Notre Dame de Bellecombe 46 m / 73 k
As the sun rises we begin to see distant alpine ranges outlined against the pale pink sky. Only three of us are left on the bus by the time we get off at the Lake Annecy drop-off, Epagny, in the plain to the west of Annecy. It is 8am and quiet for a weekday morning. A cycle path entices us but, as so often, it confuses the route and we soon have to leave it to get onto a big road into Annecy. Even though it is the rush hour and we are going through the conurbation of a city, cycling is no problem. A car pulls alongside and the driver asks for directions. We must look as though we're at home.
Suddenly the Lake appears - deep blue water encircled by jagged mountains. On a wide path, walkers, runners and cyclists are enjoying the gorgeous setting on this beautiful sunny morning. It is so peaceful I long to linger by the lake. However, reality intervenes and we go in search of a public toilet.
We are able to enjoy the cycle path only too briefly as we are soon pushed off onto narrow roads lined with traffic. Fortunately all the drivers are considerate (unlike Britain...!) but the endless stream of cars becomes wearing and it is impossible to enjoy the fantastic views of the lake. It is therefore with some relief when we turn off for our first col - Bluffy. Most of the traffic continues on the lake road. It is an easy climb - thankfully. But then, almost immediately we are going up our second col, St Jean de Sixt. It offers a gentle reminder of how long and relentless, even if not difficult, a mountain climb can be as compared to the hills of middle England.
We reach Thônes, our first alpine town reminiscent of Switzerland. The shops and houses all conform to one style of architecture. Most are four-storey wooden houses with carved decorations and balconies of cascading flowers. Even the satellite dishes are wood-coloured to merge into the sides of buildings. We buy some food and drink but wait to have a break in La Clusaz, which is similarly attractive. A much needed nap prepares us for the main climb of the day, the Col des Aravis.
The distant peaks of the Aravis range dominate the skyline, looking like the broken teeth of a worn chain-ring. We are surprised to hear the chirping of cicadas at 1400 metres. Near the top, the stunning views of the snow-covered peaks of the Mont Blanc massif confirm we are in the Alps. Not surprisingly, others are also out to enjoy the views on this sunny autumnal day. Camper vans galore are all heading up to stop at the rather tacky summit to buy postcards and animal skins from the dozens of stalls which line the roadway. A small chapel for travellers shows that this has been a popular place for tourists for well over a century. Fortunately, the camper vans and cars are all returning to Lake Annecy so the descent is pleasantly clear of traffic. Just as well, since there are two short tunnels, one, near the summit, with a sharp bend in the middle of an unlit gloomy interior.
We complete the descent into Flumet, an attractive but busy town, where we might have stayed. [photo] A large bike sculpture hangs above a narrow stone bridge when we exit the town to head up a series of tight hairpin-bend ascents to the much smaller and simpler village of Notre Dame de Bellecombe. Our hotel, Le Tetras, is supposed to be here so I don't worry about our empty water bottles. It is just a matter of finding the hotel in this village which lines the beginning of the Col des Saisies ascent.
Very tired now and more than ready for an afternoon nap, but no hotel can be seen at what appears to be the edge of the village. While G goes downhill to the tourist office (I can't bear the thought of re-ascending even 100 feet), an older woman greets me with the usual pleasantries in French. I return them, but when she asks, "how are you", I have to say "it depends on the answer to the following question - where is the hotel?" She points uphill and says "5 or 6 kilometres". Heart sinks. That is only a few kilometres from the summit at 1633 metres! G appears at this point and confirms the bad news.
"Three hours later, we reached Flumet. This hamlet has
only one inn. Twenty priests were crammed into a single
room (it was the only inhabitable room in the place).
It was decided that, despite the rain, we would go on
and spend the night at Sallanches. They told us that it was
only two leagues - but what leagues they were! - four Savoie
leagues, which is the same as six leagues in France. ...
We finally reached it after an exhausting walk
of 26 hours."
From the diary of a priest fleeing the Revolution in Orléans:
Abbé Desnoues, Mon émigration: journal inédit d'un voyage
en Savoye (septembre 1792) (Orléans, 1899), p. 25. Tr. GR |
We learn that it is not unusual for villages in the Alps to be spread out over a vast area - an important lesson for fellow cyclists! It is a shame we are so tired because it is a very pretty climb through gently sloping green meadows, past huge wooden houses all appearing to be large enough to be our much anticipated hotel. The late afternoon sun is warm and our need for water forces us to fill our bottles from one of the many running taps we find along the way. The water is cool and delicious.
Finally, a mere 5 kilometres from the summit we reach the hotel. It is too late for a nap and there is just enough time to wash before we ascend (of course) to the dining room. Rabbit terrine, chicken and what will become the ubiquitous Dauphiné potatoes is followed by cheese and a prune tart. A light rosé wine finishes us off and we return to our pine-encased room. As I drop off to sleep I find it hard to believe that this has only been our first day.
Day 2: Notre Dame de Bellecombe - Villard dessus 43.7 m / 70.1 k
I wake to the surprising sound of distant engines (minus mufflers) and begin to wonder where I am. However, the views from our balcony of tall, deep-green fir trees and steeply sloping meadows confirm that we are in the Alps. Similarly fantastic views encourage us to linger over a late breakfast and it is 10am before we leave. A 60-year-old man cycles past the otherwise empty road while G pays the bill. He is breathing hard and I am relieved that we have only 5 kilometres to the summit. It is another sunny day and we soon remove our jackets.
The summit provides an unexpected view of crowds and motor racing paraphernalia. Rows of vans and trucks are parked along the road, which is left clear for the motor cars which go speeding past. Each one has a helmeted driver and navigator wearing headphones and a helmet. Now I understand where the buzzing sound had come from!
The drivers are assembling for the Mont Blanc car rally - one of the oldest car races dating back to the 1920s. They are coming up the side of the col (Saisies), which we are hoping to descend. The roads are narrow and the car drivers are incapable of staying in their lane, as though the race had already begun. I have never understood the attraction of motor racing as a "sport".
There may be some simple skill in going up a mountain as though it were a helter-skelter, but they should also have the skill to drive safely when there are other road users about. I am surprised they have not closed the roads. It certainly makes for a nerve-racking descent, hugging the near-side of hairpin bends while the boys in metal boxes wrestle with their steering-wheels. Fortunately, I have enough talent to stay in my lane... but my legs are shaking by the time we complete the 15-kilometre descent. [photo] A stiff whisky would be welcome but we have just a few more cols for the day, so instead, we use the flat plain to recover our nerves.
Beaufort, home of the most famous local cheese, provides us with food, including an Alpine tarte (biscuit/cookie crust topped by blackberries), with a bigger diameter than Lance Armstrong's biggest chain-ring.
The ascent of the Col de Méraillet is rather hard going. We stop at an attractive, small stone chapel, with a semi-circular apse backing onto the road, perched on the edge of a large lake. The hillsides are forested but with enough clearings to provide distant views of deep gorges.
The best views come as we head for the Cormet de Roselend. [photo] G feels he is in the midst of a Scottish peat bog lifted up 3000 feet. Late blooming alpine flowers colour the meadows in light pastel shades. The scale is huge and distances are distorted by the clean air. Gigantic rocky outcrops are criss-crossed by ribbons of green pasture. The sheer cliff faces look dangerous for the grazing cows and apparently some animals do fall off the sides when they turn to descend. No tumbling cows halt our progress and the last mile to the summit, though cold, is very easy.
We put on more clothes before descending down long, straight, 40-mph stretches, ideal except for the rather bumpy and rough road surface lower down. Half-way down, some extremely tight hair-pin bends lead us into a deep gorge with views of Mont Blanc. Fantastic. Then suddenly we are in the valley. The traffic wakes us out of our dreamy state. We enter Bourg-St-Maurice and Séez, which are full of roundabouts and shops.
The road which forks off for the Little Saint Bernard Pass is surprisingly quiet. A few miles up and we are at our hotel, the Relais des Villards, a traditional Alpine dwelling. Our room at the top has views of the surrounding mountains, as well as the café below, which is quickly filling up with motorcyclists from Germany. We join them for a beer and G follows the conversations in French and German. Dinner is the same as the previous night but we start with a salad rather than terrine.
Day 3: Villard dessus - Bessans 43.4 m / 69.1 k
Grey clouds are swiftly replaced by blue sky, white fluffy clouds and sun. We rapidly descend, having nodded farewell to a wide selection of very expensive motorbikes and their owners. Despite what was a rather drunken (but happy) dinner for the Germans, the only noise that disturbed our sleep was their abnormally loud internal-combustion-engine snoring. As we soar down the last 3 kilometres of the Petit St Bernard we think again of Joyce who made this same descent 56 years ago! The hotel owner, who was beaten at school for speaking Savoyard, might have seen her cycling past all those years ago.
A squirrel with thick black fur runs in front of me as I round another tight bend. We shop at the foot of the hill in Bourg St Maurice (originally named after the Roman god Mars, then christianized much later). Today we are ascending for 37 kilometres (but a total journey to the summit of 48 kilometers). I find it hard to fathom that one can go uphill for such a long stretch.
The first part of this two-part ride to the Col de l'Iseran is downhill - very nice - until right before Sainte Foy Tarentaise. Each town we pass through requires a steep ascent. Perhaps this was to prevent flooding? The road is fairly quiet today, in contrast to yesterday. The climb is hard in parts and easier - but only just - in others (see Tim Hughes's book for a good detailed description).
We pass enormous houses in tiny Alpine villages and it is hard to distinguish a family home from a hotel. The inclusion of a barn and hayloft in the house seems to be the reason for the size. People and animals cohabited, especially in winter. (The term "alps" refers to the high summer pastures but has become synonymous with the mountain range.) Most of the living space is upstairs. Balconies are covered in hanging baskets and carved wood work. The huge roofs protect the exterior of the house. Some time ago, when the ground was too cold and hard to dig, a dead relative would be "buried" on the roof until Spring.
Today we are going up to 2780 metres, well above the zone where oxygen intake becomes noticeably less easy. We stop several times, once at a "paravalanche" to take a [photo], once to look at the glaciers looming high above the villages that perch on the other side of the valley (the site of the old road), once at a lake created by a dam - the Barrage de Tignes - decorated with the face of a giant. It is a rather subtle image which you have to see from a particular angle. We see the remains of flash flooding - ravaged houses and boulders strewn along what is now an almost dry riverbed. The dam now prevents this happening. Of course, several villages lie below the lake.
Tignes (meaning "meandering torrent") marks the end of the first part of the climb as we momentarily descend to Val d'Isere through some very dark (and scary) tunnels. [photo] Some are dimly lit but others not at all. Val d'Isere is the usual ugly ski station. Being between seasons, it is nearly deserted. I am glad to miss the traffic. We soon start on the second part of the climb. [photo]
The scenery is fantastic - massive rocks and mountain slopes converge on green pastures. As we climb, views of the clear blue river rushing over green tinted rocks become ever more distant. The sleeveless cotton top and cycling shorts are comfortable despite the chill (due to the energy required for the climb). The air becomes thinner. I appreciate the signposts which, at every kilometre after Val d'Isère, tell us how much further we have to go as well as the altitude and gradient for the next kilometres (even if discouraging at times). There is almost no traffic and only three other cyclists go up at the same time. The landscape becomes more barren and we are soon cycling beside, rather than below, the glaciers and mountain peaks. Breathing is harder and at times the climb is gruelling. Plenty of chamois dung by the roadside, but no sign of the animals. The bird whose song imitates an unoiled chain is still in evidence, as is the whistling of marmottes.
While we are stopped for a much desired break, a cyclist passes us rather slowly, and we can see by looking at each other that we are thinking the same thing: when will it end? But finally, after passing a building associated with the Winter Olympics, we arrive at the summit.
A bleak grey building like a prison sits on the summit (it turns out to be a shop). The cyclist who passed us earlier offers to take our [photo], and then, as rainclouds close in and the road to the south begins to look wet and slippery, we quickly put on all our winter clothes - rather like going from bathing suit to snow suit, for the descent. It is wonderful. We escape from the rain, and despite the 9.5 and 10% gradients one feels in control and some of the curves are great fun. Of course, a few times, I confront a precipice and just have to assume that the road will continue. We both pass a shepherd in a slow moving car and avoid the sheep still on the roadway.
We continue to descend past amazing views of glaciers and massive mountain peaks [photo] until we reach a valley where the village of Bonneval sits (one of the "plus beaux villages"). The landscape appears flat but is really downhill. We are surrounded by mountains of varying shapes and heights. A river running alongside green pastures surrounds the village.
Close up, Bonneval has become a tourist trap selling a very particular image of the past. It is so full of visitors and model workshops/homes/stores that it is hard to find any real homes or shops. Oddly, the hotels are the one aspect of the village that seem to retain a flavour of the past when the only food on offer was year-old bread. We therefore decide to continue the now gentle descent down the valley, along a sparkling stream and ever widening green meadows. Triangular shaped mountain tops encircle us.
We turn off for Bessans, a village which has managed to retain the old mingled with the new. A Logis de France hotel - the Hôtel du Mont Iseran - dominates the square and we soon find ourselves looking down into the same square from our balcony. Bright sunshine is blocked by the massive rock face looming above the tall wooden houses. Another cyclist arrives as we descend for an apéritif. We watch the local children cycling around the square. Even the youngest are riding bikes with triple chain-rings!
Dinner is the best yet - a cheese tart made with Beaufort cheese, local trout with buckwheat pasta, a green salad and then cheese. The fellow cyclist had put in an order for a massive pot of spaghetti, which he consumes with relish. The young waitresses (daughter and friend) start giggling when he orders dessert by means of literary references and soon everyone is joining in. We are all light-headed at 1780 metres - or it might be the north wind, which, "if moderate, brings hilarity, lightness of body and free exercise of the organs of life and intensity of combustion." (from Hautes Alpes in Description topographique et statistique de la France, by Jacques Peuchet, 1807, p. 4). We leave the Belgian cyclist in the bar and wonder whether or not he will be cycling very far the next day.
Day 4: Bessans - Valloire 44.2 m / 70.7 k
Thirty-four miles of gentle descending is a fantastic way to start the day, especially with such beautiful sunshine. The road from Bessans is nearly deserted (but it is a Sunday) as we head for the Col du Télégraphe on the N90. As we descend through this long valley, along the pure blue Arc River, the scenery changes, mostly altered by human structures. The first striking example is a fort built into the rock face, part of the early 19th century Esseillon fortifications. More recent industrial installations are uglier and the villages become less charming. We find shops open in Modane and buy supplies for the day. We should have eaten there as well since the opportunities for a picnic disappear completely at the edge of town.
Curved concrete surrounds us on all sides while above us are glimpses of well-lit tunnel entrances. We are cycling near a major intersection of trans-European motorways. Signs remind drivers from Italy of French road regulations. However, the road we are on, a very wide former "A" road, is completely devoid of traffic, most of which is syphoned off by the Fréjus Tunnel. We cycle in multiple lanes all to ourselves with the sound of fast moving traffic on all other roads. Feels odd - but safe.
Still cycling at above-average speeds, we enter St Michel de Maurienne, the end of the long descent begun the day before. Right before the tunnel which marks the beginning of the ascent to the Telegraph, a small patch of grass provides cyclists with a few lonely benches, water and toilets. A group of Dutch cyclists with their support vehicles (sigh) are much too busy jostling with each other to say hello. We are pleased to see them go ahead so they can compete amongst themselves.
Thankfully, after the struggles of the past few days going uphill, I am delighted that, though difficult, the ascent never feels impossible at any point! Somehow, a mere 7 miles uphill seems manageable and the gradients are very even. I should add that others find it easy as well. For example, we are passed by a man with a broken arm in a cast (not sure how he descended...)!
We are surrounded by beautiful russet coloured forests until two kilometres before the summit when the views open out and we suddenly have a fantastic view of the "Big Staircase of Encumbrances" in full sunlight. [photo] Meadows near the summit are sprinkled in flowers. We have a very pleasant descent into Valloire.
Valloire is a frontier town with a long main street hemmed in by mountains. The town lives for tourism and therefore dies, in some sense, from it as well. The restaurant in the Hôtel Christiania is pretentious and though it claims a Bottin Gourmand recommendation, our veal is decidedly mature. We try a local wine from the Mendeuse grape which has little depth but is interesting because it is from the region. The hotel room is comfortable and storage of bikes in ski racks seems fine until we get them out in the morning and find that children have moved them, used the pump for their own bikes, etc. Tourist fatigue is obvious among the local residents.
Day 5: Valloire - Briançon 34.3 m / 54.8 k
We wake to the sound of rain which is amplified by the metal roofs. Fortunately, it is just a light drizzle and the initial steep ascent out of the town and up 2 kilometres to the next village quickly warms us up.
We had stayed in Valloire thinking that would be the only place for shops and hotels, but the small village of Les Verneys has a Logis de France and enough shops for our purposes. Our advice would be to stay here rather than Valloire. It also means you can start the day on a slightly flatter ascent for warming muscles. The unpromising weather has discouraged car tourists. A pair of camping cyclists hover in the distance for most of the ascent. The Galibier road (part of the Route des Grandes Alpes) provides a fairly regular gradient with a few steep sections and the occasional "plan" (flat section) which allows for recovery without stopping. The scree-covered slopes are interspersed with copses of dark green fir trees. Thick cloud cover gives the mountain top a fluffy white sleeping bonnet. Most of the traffic is motorbikes, German and Irish, and all very friendly.
The Plan La Grange is dominated by a tiny, rustic Beaufort cheese factory. We know we are above 1500 metres since this is the minimum altitude for the production of this local cheese, advertised as the "fromage des sportifs". The boulder strewn meadow is dotted with sheep - and a marmotte: a furry rodent that slithers and lollops over the rocks like a cat with very short feet and a thick black-tipped tail. We have heard their whistling for the past few days so it is good to see one up close.
The scenery is gorgeous and wonderfully varied. The road twists and turns continually, providing different views of the distant mountains. As we near the summit, which can be seen from 3 kilometres away, we find ourselves looking down on mountain summits topped by clouds. It is breath-taking! A recently reopened tunnel for cars and trucks also marks an extremely steep last ascent on a narrowing road, over several gallons' worth of Tour de France graffiti, to the top at 2646 metres. [photo]
We meet cyclists who have arrived by car so they can descend minus the work of an ascent. Our own descent doesn't last long, not because it is a scary 12% but because we want to stop at the Henri Desgrange monument and take photos in front of a large poster advertising the opening of a museum in 2005 about cyclists and the Galibier. [photo] Hope it attracts cyclists on cycles rather than more cars!
We continue the descent, which is less steep. Just as well, since we are fully distracted by stunning views of massive glaciers coming ever closer. Immediately beside us are mountain slopes so covered in lichens that they appear as red, orange or lime-green humps. I just want to stay there suspended at each bend, but I also want to continue as each turn opens up another glorious vision. At 2057 metres we go over the summit of the Col du Lautaret - the easiest of the 2000+ metre cols! [photo] At the junction, we stop for a picnic in a glacial pastureland, smelling of thyme and full of tiny alpine flowers. We could easily stay in this magical place but soon the food is consumed and we move on.
The N91 is surprisingly quiet from the Lautaret until just outside Briançon. The tunnel marked on the map is actually open on one side and not a problem. The graffiti on the road surface is mostly the names of women cyclists (the Tour de France féminin or "Grande Boucle" was here recently), as well as Ullrich and Virenque. Of course, we are descending at a good pace (the ultimate freewheel for 18 miles - no pedalling or braking required) so traffic is effectively lighter than for those ascending. There are lots of cyclists heading up the way we have come. Most are locals out for a training run, including lots of women.
We arrive in Briançon, the highest city in Europe at 1350 metres, and find our hotel, the Edelweiss, which we chose from a tape of a Tour de France stage won by Sebastian Botero. Later, we walk up into the old town. It is dominated by narrow, tall, stone structures lining steep cobbled road ways which occasionally open up into squares with cafés and walls decorated with colourful sundials. In the 18th century, travelling artists specialising in sundials went from town to town offering their services. Briançon has an unusually wide selection of sundials, intricately decorated in provençal colours. The small shops are full of local produce and we enjoy one of the items, a vin de noix (nut wine) with our salad in a friendly family-run restaurant, La Caponnière.
Day 6: Briançon - Arvieux 19.4 m / 30.8 k
The morning is grey and heavy rain is descending as we wake up. Peering from our balcony at the Hôtel Edelweiss we cannot see any sign of clearing skies. We breakfast in a large, sparely and tastefully decorated dining room with very good views of the rain, which is obviously here to stay - as we should have done! However, we have our schedule and as the previous morning had brightened up, we had hopes that the weather would improve. Anywhere other than the Alps we would have been treated as mad, but here everyone seems to be doing some sport or another, so when we say we are heading for the Col d'Izoard, a 23-kilometre ascent to 2360 metres, it seems quite normal. (The Izoard is one of the alpine cols that are closed to motorised traffic on certain days in the summer: see "itinéraires partagés". ) On the other hand, we didn't see any other cyclists going up or coming down the mountain!
We buy some food near the hotel and by the time we are on the outskirts of Briançon we are soaked to the skin by the increasingly heavy downpour. G is convinced that the rain will clear if we get above the clouds. The gradients up to Cervières at 1620 metres are fine and we find a bus shelter where we can eat some yogurts. After Le Laus, tougher gradients (8.5 - 9%) kick in and the rain gradually turns to sleet and then to snow. At least it explains why my hands are getting progressively colder.
It is soon too cold to stop. The water bottles start to ice up. Two motorcyclists going down very slowly (15mph) nod to us in solidarity. A workman repairing the road is startled to see us and says, rather ominously, "Vous n'avez pas peur, vous!" ("You're not afraid!"). The driver of a car creeping gingerly down the mountain rolls down the window and gives me a salute. An empty tourist bus, with chains on its wheels, has a driver and navigator concentrating hard to feel the edge of the narrow road covered in fresh snow. It is obvious that one could easily fall off a precipice since, as usual, there are no barriers.
Despite the increasing cold, I have to stop so I can open and consume some energy bars. It is also an opportunity to enjoy the profound silence of this clean new world and the sight of deep green forests sprinkled in white. The beauty makes one forget any discomfort, briefly. The Refuge Napoléon, covered in thick snow by now, marks the last kilometre to the summit. As we round the corner, we hear shouts of encouragement as the owners step outside waving and smiling. And it is encouraging!
The summit is finally reached, but the shop, café and small cycling museum are shut tight against the cold. G stops to take a [photo].
I dig into our bags for more clothes - and something dry - for the descent. Sloshing wet shoes are now like ice cubes and I must not look quite right since a nice Dutch couple insist we sit in their heated car and drink something warm. I quickly down a huge mug of coffee (a drink I normally avoid due to its speed effect on my body). G talks with them in a mixture of French, Dutch and English. Names of cyclists (Tyler Hamilton, Michael Boogerd et al.) and arm gestures keep the conversation going. Somewhat warmer, we leave and find that another Dutch car, large enough to take our bikes, has remained there to see if we want a ride down, the way they have just come up. We decline their kind offer. A cake is thrust into our hands and "good luck" in one or more languages is called out as we head off down into the Queyras region, towards the Italian border.
I have been very comfortable on descents throughout this trip and fortunately, the snow doesn't alter my style. Icy rides in December and January have taught us some useful skills. Of course we don't go too fast for fear that the "wind chill factor" could completely freeze our hands and feet. Plus, the scenery is lovely! In the Casse Déserte, rocky pinnacles topped by snow, stand like silent giants in this bare landscape. As I round yet another corner, the steep descent merges into a sudden ascent - very welcome for the warming exercise it will offer. It is also a chance to admire the views along these narrow roads.
Seven kilometres of steep 9% descending take us much too quickly back into the cold rain, falling heavily on this side of the mountain as well. 35 mph in the wet at 7000 feet is frankly painful. Hands have ceased to grip the brakes sufficiently and I have to pull into an ascending driveway in order to slow down. G goes down with his mouth wide open as the only way to avoid grinding his teeth from the cold.
We finally stop at a café in Arvieux for a hot drink and meet two other cyclists who are on their way up. One is on a recumbent bike. They are both well kitted out for the weather and sensibly stopped to dry out and warm up before becoming too cold. It is obvious from their physique that they are professional sportsmen. They are kind and concerned but also curious about the conditions and excited to continue their ascent, especially when they are told about the bus with chains on its tyres. We have to decide whether or not we will continue to St Véran, 20 kilometres further on, via Château-Queyras and Molines. The question is answered by my inability to stop shivering, despite drinking a pitcher of hot water.
The owner (father of Arsenal football player Grimandi) announces that I cannot leave until I am warmed up. ("I don't want to force you to stay here, but I'll let the air out of your tires if you try to leave!...") His trick of slapping your knees to warm your feet isn't going to work on ice cube extremities. We are no longer thinking very well so I am grateful when he insists that I be put under a hot shower. The hotel and restaurant are shut for the season but he opens a room for us and I stand in the shower for half an hour, melting and feeling my feet return to life. Wrapped in several blankets I start to cry for no reason other than exhaustion, relief and the day-long displays of kindness.
At least it is clear what we need to do. We stay. At 2040 metres, St Véran is deep in snow so we might not have reached it anyway.
(We were going to stay at the Hôtel Beauregard, which sent us a nice postcard when we booked and didn't charge us when he had to cancel at the last minute.)
The room is covered in wet clothes trying to dry and we go through several hundred sheets of newspaper (including old numbers of L'Equipe with pictures of the sunny Tour de France) in our attempt to dry shoes, gloves, etc.
Imagine trying to get dinner in a British village with no restaurant while you are staying in a hotel closed for the season with a bar run by a former football player. Fortunately, we were in France, and the bartender (the owner had left to return to his home in Gap) put together a very nice salad with fresh local pâté, cheeses and fresh vegetables. We have no problem getting to sleep.
Day 7: Arvieux - Embrun (via Aiguilles) 39.6 m / 63.4 k
We have a leisurely start as there is no bread in the village until 8:15. The sun is shining and there is a comfortable breeze as we continue our descent. The gradient is now quite gentle and we are soon away from the few buildings that make up Arvieux. It is not a "prettiest village" like St Véran, but it is a real Alpine village with a mixture of old and new and an absence of "tourist fatigue". We are soon at a turn-off where we meet three older cyclists who ask us about conditions on the mountain top (assuming we had come over that morning). We tell them about the snow but they are not surprised and happy to proceed with their ascent.
We decide to continue with the planned detour to Aiguilles, a village where different styles of expensive houses were built at the turn of the century by locals (now rich) returning from South America. It also takes us closer to Italy. We go through Château-Queyras, built to guard the border. It is on a pinnacle of rock and looks quite imposing - but only from the French side! Aiguilles is interesting but not really worth a detour. The valley to the village is one of the ugliest stretches of road, even though the snowy mountains on the border with Italy are very pretty sparkling in the sun. We return and rejoin the road heading west to Guillestre and what remains of the descent from the day before.
We pass through high walled gorges from where we can peer down to the deep blue-green Guil River, running over massive boulders. [photo] It is lovely and the cycling is so easy! We have our last close views of snow-capped mountains and glaciers on the edge of Guillestre, at the road for the Col de Vars. [photo] This is where we leave the Route des Grandes Alpes. After a fast, brief stretch on the N94, we turn off onto a smaller road (D994) for Embrun. A steep ascent has us hanging onto precipices plummeting down to the snake-like Durance river.
Unexpectedly we meet up with three of the men from the European Bike Express who got off in Geneva. We compare notes and ride together to Embrun where we turn off for Sisteron. Their riding style is quite different from mine and I wonder if they are giving me a taste of what a "club run" is like. They ride hard but stop often. They don't slow down for colleagues who stop to take photos but they do stop until they have regrouped. I would be exhausted by this rhythm pretty quickly. However, it is nice riding together and chatting about what we have seen and done. They sensibly had a day off when it was raining!
It is still early in the day so there is plenty of time to hunt for our hotel, the Hôtel de la Mairie, after climbing up into Embrun. The medieval (or is it Roman?) layout of roads can be confusing, and we see most of this very pretty small town before finding the square with our hotel, tucked away, but quite prominent once you find it. We return, on foot, to a vantage point in the town park, which offers us wonderful views of where we have been and where we are going the next day. We can also look down onto a vast flood plain, perfectly flat, where gardens and fields are laid out in a colourful patch-work. We visit the 9th-century cathedral which has a strikingly dark interior due to the black schist and white limestone which form bands across the ceilings. There are only two fragments of frescos but one can see how much they would have brightened up the church interior. Pink granite lions guard the front entrance. Between two of the pillars holding up the porch is the face of the Dean, carved there by workmen whom he had failed to pay.
The formal hotel dining room is already full so we dine in the attached ornate 19th-century cafe. A loud, fast-talking and bossy waitress keeps most of the male customers (including her husband and his cronies) in silent submission. Entertaining for one evening but otherwise exhausting for all.
Click here for Part Two
Click here for photographs
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