The week of cycling in the French Alps is over and I'm already missing the sight of the early morning sun rising over the mountain peaks followed by an ample breakfast and the all-day, always challenging but always breathtakingly beautiful ride. After the huge excitement and anticipation of my college graduation,
it was hard to imagine anything coming close to topping that event and achievement. In November of last year (2013) when we
started planning a bike ride in the French Alps, there was no way to imagine how
the two events might coexist, dovetail or compliment each other.
The epic bike ride was a graduation present from Charlie, (one I was reluctant to acknowledge until the last minute, thinking it might somehow jinx the successful completion of my studies). Now, in reminiscence, I realize the physical self-awareness achieved when facing those mountains alone on a bike was, indeed, an appropriate culmination to the mind-expanding experience of college.
In our planning stages, we could not possibly have predicted that the day of our departure, the auspicious Friday the 13th of June, would be the first day of a major national French train strike. The work stoppage made for a departure from Paris that consisted of a few false starts and lots of stops until we finally arrived nearly eight hours late in Menthon St. Bernard, a little village nestled in the French Alps near Lake Annecy that served as the launch point for our trip.
The epic bike ride was a graduation present from Charlie, (one I was reluctant to acknowledge until the last minute, thinking it might somehow jinx the successful completion of my studies). Now, in reminiscence, I realize the physical self-awareness achieved when facing those mountains alone on a bike was, indeed, an appropriate culmination to the mind-expanding experience of college.
In our planning stages, we could not possibly have predicted that the day of our departure, the auspicious Friday the 13th of June, would be the first day of a major national French train strike. The work stoppage made for a departure from Paris that consisted of a few false starts and lots of stops until we finally arrived nearly eight hours late in Menthon St. Bernard, a little village nestled in the French Alps near Lake Annecy that served as the launch point for our trip.
When you arrive at a destination for the first time in the dark, the daylight reveals a totally new landing place, and the following morning we discovered for the first time the beauty of our surroundings. We met the rest of the riders over an
early breakfast that had been set up for us in the park-like setting on the
grounds of the hotel and discussed the first ride of the trip, a relatively "short and easy" ride (for those more experienced at such things then Charlie or I).
Our first day of riding started with a shuttle ride in the van to the base of Col de Colombiรจre. A category 1 ride with approximately 4,000 feet of climbing over 18 kilometers. We started the ride with high hopes and excitement interspersed with trepidation.
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| From left: Paul, Charlie, Jack, Margaret, Lance, Richard (partially hidden) Ruth and me |
We had no idea what the Col de Colombiรจre had in store for us. It
took us about four hours to climb the 18 kilometers to the top. We limped up to the summit, huffing and puffing to a round
of applause from the rest of the group who were well into what became the standard lunch of a ham and cheese baguette sandwich by the
time we arrived.
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| traditional "borne" |
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| "Happy Charlie" |
We quickly became acquainted with the French system of ranking mountain climbs (since mountains rule the stages in this part of the country). The ascent is rated from 1(hardest) to 5 (easiest) based both on steepness and length of the climb. Then there is Hors Category, which translated means outside of category. In other words… too tough to categorize.
For the majority of the rides, there were signs along the
route indicating both the steepness of the grade and the remaining kilometers
to the summit. The "bornes" -- as they are referred to in French -- as well as the more traditional variety soon came to represent a source of motivation in our daily quest for the
top. The absence of signage on our last day's (and most difficult) climb -- an anomaly discovered by Ruth -- was acutely felt by all.
For the most part, we had excellent weather during the trip. The notable exception was the dramatic snow storm that moved in the
afternoon the group was ascending the Col du Galibier. The morning had started out
bright and full of promise with a sunny ascent up the Col de Telegraphe, and ended
with a blinding snow storm at the top of Galibier. Disaster was averted thanks to some quick thinking by
our guides and a rapid sweep of the riders off the various stages of climb in
which we were all involved.
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| Top of Galibier the day it snowed |
The breath-taking scenery certainly helped to ease the pain
of one’s bursting lungs, screaming thigh muscles and cramping calves. Every day the topography would change and reveal another side of the mountain.
Whether it was the multi-colored fields of wild flowers or the breathtaking ridges over thousand foot vertical drops, the steep ascents that seemed to go on forever, or the white-knuckle downhill descents, never, in the furthest reaches of my mind, could I have imagined the magnificence and magic that each of us discovered day after day from our perch on our bike seat.
With all this amazing scenery, I couldn’t help but be reminded of the day I took my mom for
a mountain bike ride in Annadel State Park in Santa Rosa, California. She
valiantly huffed and puffed her way to the top of the rutted hill and when I
said to her… “ Mom, turn around and look at the view, it will make the climb worth the pain,” she quickly replied
to me… “ F--- the view,” and never
forgave me for taking her up -- what to me at the time -- seemed like an easy gradual climb. "I love ya mom, and now I know exactly how you felt that day!" Looking back on this trip, however, I think she would have had a different opinion had she been with me on this ride.
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| On the way to Col d'Izoard |
