The Paceline Forum - 2 Eriksens on Col du Joly

Late spring when I last rode with Max. Too long. Summer didn�t work out how I�d imagined, unexpected down time slicing into a fabulous summer. Max said similar history for him. Sliding into autumn and I still hadn�t done a high col nor ridden with Max. Time to rectify both. Max free for Saturday. Just one condition: minimal driving time. He�d been spending too much time traveling. Okay with me, just shortened the selection list a bit. Something in Savoie but not deep Savoie. Something Max hadn�t ridden.

Col de l�Arpettaz leapt to mind. Wonderful climb, long, hard, scenic, zero traffic. Then there�s this �chemin�, sort of a four-wheel drive forest road only rather tame compared to american-west standards, that links the Arpettaz and Col des Aravis. Never ridden it, didn�t know much about it outside of seeing part of it at either end. Potentially an excellent adventure, one I knew Max would be up for. But weather was unstable, lots of unknowns between the two cols, like 10 K worth of unknowns, plus my form wasn�t anything to get excited about. Max said he wasn�t in top form either. If how he rode was with poor form, I know I don�t want to ride with him when he�s in top form! But that was later.

Headed up the valley to Albertville. Still undecided on what to ride. Wanted to show Max a good one. Col du Joly started ringing stronger and stronger bells. Only ridden it once, a year and month ago. Great ride. Immediately moved it to the head of the hit parade after I rode it. I do that a lot with new rides. Makes for a crowded head of the hit parade. Has everything, good road, great views, hard but not desperate, no traffic, fabulous downhill. Only negative is the 20 K approach ride from Albertville to Beaufort, more traffic than I really like. Writing that makes me laugh; at a guess I�d say we were passed by maybe 30, 35 cars in that 20 K. That was on a Saturday. I know, I�m spoiled. From Beaufort to the col, 22 K or so, we saw maybe 6 cars. Probably less.

Got to Albertville, I could see the Arpettaz in the distance under a blue sky. Big temptation. Wasn�t until we were pulling our bikes out of the car and slipping on the front wheels that I settled on Joly. My legs didn�t have the strength for Arpettaz. Save it for another day when we can do the chemin. Turned out to be a good call. The climb to Joly whipped me; Arpettaz would have left me a whimpering lump on the road.

The ride to Beaufort was better than I remembered. Around 20 K of sustained spinning with a few good grades along the way. Max was strong. Every time the road ramped up, he�d drop me with an ease that was embarrassing. Then the road would flatten and I�d catch his wheel again. Wonderfully relaxing spin. Nice views, river alongside, mountains rising up, temperature just right. I think we spent a lot of time on the big ring. With him I rode it faster than I would have alone. He was slower than he would have without me along.

Rolled into Beaufort, famous for a cheese named after it. A good cheese but for me nothing exceptional, just another good french cheese. I read there are 1700 different cheeses in France. Pretty crazy, 1700 cheeses all from the same source. Stopped on a pedestrian bridge to drink some water, shoot some pics, enjoy the village before tackling the climb. Flowers everywhere. Buildings all wood and stone or wood and stucco. A nice feeling village. Headed off, rolled past two guys strolling through town playing accordions. Some sort of accordion festival going on. All summer long French villages organize all kinds of festivals. This one was all about accordions and their music. This was not the Woodstock of accordion music.

Left Beaufort on the road to Cormet de Roselend. The Cormet is a good one. I�ve only ridden down the Cormet road to Beaufort, and that only from the reservoir and the junction with the road from Col de Pr�. An okay descent; too straight, too wide for me. I suspect less interesting as a climb. But from the junction with the road from Col de Pr� to the Cormet is a fine ride and the descent off the other side to Bourg St Maurice is lovely. Doing the Cormet via the Col de Pr� makes for an excellent ride. Start for Pr� is in Beaufort. Steep bugger, lots of switchbacks.

A couple hundred meters out of Beaufort we turned left onto a small road for Joly. The climb was joined. Up through some long sweepers, grades steep enough I�m in my climbing gear, a 34/27, but that�s not saying much. I�m there a lot whenever the road angles up. One long section that felt like it was pushing 8%. Into a hamlet, houses decorated with geraniums, pretty much standard in Savoie, like in Switzerland. Red geraniums against rough hewn wood weathered a dark golden and burnt brown, gorgeous. We didn�t stop, the col was calling. Entered this long section with the road weaving up across the slopes in a gentle contour, across fields, into pockets of forest, more fields, road never straight. Max was flying, me behind chasing hard. Big fun. Hit a small downhill and we were pouring on the speed through some sweepers then back into more low angle climbing and contouring. Came to an end when the road swung left, dropped down and across the river, then up to the junction with the road from Hauteluce. We turned right and headed up the valley. Max was wondering where in the heck the col was. I�d wondered the same thing first time I rode there.

U-shaped valley carving straight into the mountains. Not far off flat. Max was looking strong; told him to go on ahead if he wanted, no problem. Asked me how far the col was. Asked him if his gadgets told him our altitude. Yep, they did, 1200 meters. Okay, just about 800 meters to go. He did a double take on that one. We�d already done maybe 800 meters and weren�t even in the real climb yet! I followed his wheel up the valley. Summer was definitely over, the grasses drying, wildflowers finished, most of the chalets looking closed up. All of a sudden Max looks at me and says he�s skied there! Had to laugh. First time I rode Joly, got to the col and suddenly realized I�d skied there, had some fabulous powder days off the summits, had no idea there was a paved road under all that snow. Turned out Max had had some terrific powder up there too.

Hit the climb, I told Max there�s a restaurant and bar at the summit if he wants to go on. That was the last I saw of him for awhile. A good while actually. Kind of a relief because my legs were tired. I could roll along at my own pace, whimpering from time to time without being embarrassed. I could stop to take pictures, something I�d been reluctant to do until then. Didn�t want to break our rhythm too much. Now I was on my own and could fall back into my own pace of struggling along. Meanwhile Max, or so I imagined, was flying up the mountain. Got to wondering if the restaurant would be open. Good chance it wouldn�t be, season over even if it was a Saturday. Well, if he got cold or bored waiting for me, he�d just ride back down and ride up it again.

Beautiful climb, have to say that. No traffic at all, narrow road, never straight, big views. I�d forgotten how hard it is though. Stopped from time to time to shoot some pics, eat some food, drink some water. Amazing how those brief stops can refresh the legs. Kind of strange riding a road bike on pavement up past ski runs and lifts in the seemingly middle of nowhere. Road was a real undulation, even a couple of short sections of fast downhill. And lots of turns, not switchbacks though some of those up higher, just linked bends across the mountain. And views, always these huge views back down the valley. The grasses were pretty well devastated by all the cows. Not much they hadn�t eaten. Lots of portable milking machines. Can�t be easy producing all that milk for all that Beaufort cheese that gets shipped all over the world.

Clouds sagging on the summits. Wondered if Max got up soon enough to see Mont Blanc. The heat at times was intense, a sweltering humidity that was sweating every drop of liquid out of my body. I�d only stop where there was a breeze blowing to cool me off. Thankfully the fly population seemed to either be on holiday or else too occupied with the cows.

Spotted a switch back to the left up ahead. Remembered that one. Leads into a steep ramp. I groaned. At least it meant the summit wasn�t much further. But man was that last bit hard. There were ramps along the way that had me whimpering like some squeaky kid. Then there it was, the summit. Road started to ease, at last. Spotted Max off to the left, just above this nasty looking dirt track up a steep little hill. With his bike. Waiting for me. I ignored him. I was whipped, barely able to move, and there he is waiting for me to ride up this steep little piece of wet dirt and gravel! Didn�t know he had such a mean spirit. Circled around, ignoring him, finally gave up, said let�s do it, attacked his little dirt climb. Made it. Would have been embarrassing to have him catch me on film falling over. A perfectly good flat spot below with exactly the same view and he had to wait on top of this silly little rock climb! And here I�d been thinking he�d be at the bar with a fresh beer waiting for me. Turned out the bar was closed, waiting for winter. Win some, lose some.

Managed to stop and swing off the bike without falling over. Looked where Mont Blanc was supposed to be. Thick clouds instead. Oh well. Looked down and saw a cyclist arriving, carrying a fast pace, way faster than one I arrived with at any rate. Didn�t stop, just a small loop, headed down. Last look around, zipped up wind vests, Max burned off. I followed. He was on a mission. Don�t remember him descending so fast. I mean he was flying down the mountain. This on a road with little margin for maneuvering in a country where drivers are always cutting the corners. I was impressed. We were burning off that mountain like the banshees were after us. Major fun!

Hit a slight uphill, pulled alongside Max. He�s grinning. Which for him is a major statement. Off again, this time I�m in front. Dive through some quick back and forths and all of a sudden there�s the cyclist we saw on the summit in front of us. Never imagined seeing him again but there he was and I�m closing on him hard and fast. Go left to go by and all of a sudden he�s moving across the road into my path. I yell, he does a classic double or maybe triple take and swerves back to the right while I power by followed by Max. And down we go. On and on and finally we�re in the big U-valley and we�re still flying. Amazing.

Get to the junction, Hauteluce straight ahead, Beaufort to the left. We go left, down and across the river, up a small hill, swing right, and we�re on the contour across the hill. Fast and bendy. Big ring, small cog, rolling down the mountain in clouds of happiness. Doesn�t get any better than that. Get to Beaufort, stop at a bar for beers. Recuperation drinks of course. Crashed back in our chairs at an outside table, bikes leaning into a small jungle of flowers, cold beers fresh from the tap served by as fine looking a young woman as I�ve ever seen. Forty years younger and I would have instantly fallen in love.

Fortified for the last 20 K, we�re off again. It�s afternoon, we�re in the Alps, heading down a valley. Translation: head wind guaranteed. Fortunately not fierce, not like in the Maurienne valley, maybe too many trees here for the wind to collect its forces. But a headwind nevertheless. Max is in the lead, me tucked in behind. But not for long. Even with him sheltering me from the brunt of the wind, I can�t hold his pace and slip back out of the hole. After awhile he noticed I wasn�t there, slowed down till I was behind him again. We were off again. But only for a little while, until I was fading again and slipping back.

Hit the short climb out of the valley. Turned out to be longer than I remembered but also easier. I stayed on the big ring. Knowing that was the last obstacle before the final downhill into Albertville must have given me some energy. Over the top and down. I always say if you want to know if a pitch is steep, ride down it, gravity never lies. Gravity was pulling us hard down through the last couple of K into town. I mean we were hammering, carving these wonderfully long arcs through a series of stretched out S turns. Then into some quick back and forths. No brakes, just full on speed. A truly fine finish to an outstanding day.

Thinking back, have to say the road to Col du Joly is as good as there is and better than most. At least for me. Has it all. A fine and entertaining approach before the main festivities. A hard climb but never desperate and always interesting. Straights don�t exist. The road perfectly married to the contours instead of some intrusive slice into the flanks. Views are good, not dramatic like on the road to Lautaret and Galibier, no vertical crags draped with snow and ice piercing the sky. But big views, all the way down the valley and out over the mountains in the distance. And no forests. I like that. I�m not a tree guy. I like the open grasslands of the high mountains and that the road to Joly has in spades. For a strong rider in top form, the road has got to be the perfect stage to play on. Grades constantly but subtly shifting, one moment easing off then blending into a hard ramp where you can apply full power and fly up it, daring the road to throw something stiffer at you. Then another easing and you�re ripping along up the mountain, diving through the bends, and into another ramp. Fabulous, all the way.

And then the summit. One moment you�re working hard up the mountain and the next you�re coasting, jaw hanging slack, eyeballs glued to this massive mountain of snow, ice, and rock right there in front of you, Mont Blanc. Almost close enough to touch. Wasn�t like that Saturday with Max but the only other time I rode Joly, Mont Blanc was standing tall in all its splendor. A special place.

And then the descent! I can�t think of a better descent. Technical enough that the unskilled will be quickly weeded out. Fingers floating over the brake levers, diving through turns, wide going in to see if it�s clear, slicing in tight through the apex, always with a frisson of caution bubbling in the subconscious for the unexpected. We�re talking a roadbed that�s at best a car and a half wide most of the time. Also fast. And always the views out over the valley. Not sure I know of a more thrilling descent. Even better than the drop off the south side of Galibier. Anybody can fly off the Galibier with a modicum of skill, not on Joly. High speed on Joly is an intense dance on a tight rope all the way but if you hit it right, there�s nothing better.

Some pics, if you want more a year ago I posted quite a few from my day on Joly.