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#1
04-21-2016, 02:17 AM
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Celebrating on the Col de Carabès
This was wild. Celebrated turning 71 by feeling what it’s like to ride like Cancellara. And no, I didn’t get an e-bike for a present. This was me on the bike with my own legs providing the power (well, maybe had a wee bit of aid) and flying over the road for an hour plus at speeds that made me laugh with wonder!
A spectacular ride but not in terms of scenery, in terms of the riding itself. I mean the scenery was good, I’m in France, right, but nothing like what I’m used to. No soaring summits, no deep gorges with a road carved out of vertical faces (well, actually there was a touch of that, but only a wee touch), no high col finally arrived at after some unrelentingly long climb, no fields of blinding green curving over alpine ridges. But for pure riding, just being on a bike, spinning it up a road, diving through turns, powering up a steady climb then racing down a serpentine track of blacktop, this road was dream city. Also completely unknown to me, never heard of the Col de Carabès before. Probably because it’s a two-hour drive away in an area where I never go unless I’m on my way somewhere else. But when I woke up to low, heavy clouds with rain in the forecast, I started checking the weather elsewhere. Like to the south. There it was, sunshine city! And warmth, maybe not hot warmth but maybe enough for short sleeves if not shorts. Maybe. Okay, found the sun, now what to ride, needed something worthy of a birthday celebration. Long consideration for Signal de Lure, often called the mini-Ventoux or something like that. No way it resembles Mont Ventoux, outside of the fact that it’s in Provence and only 80-some meters lower than Ventoux, but whatever. I rode it maybe a dozen, fifteen years ago. My memories of it are vague, other than it was a good climb and easier than I’d been led to expect. I doubt I’d find that to be the case today. Riding Lure meant more car time so that idea faded. Dug in my map box, pulled out one for the hills around Serres, a place I didn’t know outside of seeing it while driving through or stopping at a restaurant along the river near the center of the village. Spotted a road that looked interesting, the road to Col de Carabès. Over that, down to Valdrômes, then back around to Serres. Sounded good. Got to Serres, parked along the river, made sure my map was in my pack, water bottles full, headed off for the Col de Carabès. Edge of town, angle left off the highway onto a narrow strip of black tranquility heading up a small valley. Like so small that in all the years of driving by I’d never even noticed it. And I’ll be damned, the pavement is friggin buff! Sweet. What was less sweet was the wind in my face that seemed to pick up force the deeper into the valley I got. Arrived at the end of the buff black just before Sigottier, a hamlet of stone houses tucked against a wall of limestone where the river tore through a narrow defile through the cliff. Apparently a well-known climbing area. Getting through the slot was hard; the air compressed into a wind tunnel. Thankfully short. Out the other side then turned left at a junction, direction la Piarre, a village built on a hillside near another narrow slot through a wall of limestone. Getting there meant battling a headwind the entire time. Kept thinking I was going the wrong direction because if I was going the other way, this would be rocket city. Thick air was buffeting me around like some sort of nuisance that needed to be removed but from time to time I hit pockets of stillness and the bike would leap ahead. I was thoroughly enjoying myself. The climbing kicked in at La Piarre. Small village, the only people I saw about verging from old to ancient. There’s a junction in the village. To the left a dirt road that climbs to a col. I’d seen it on the map. Looked like something to explore, but not today. Filed away for who knows when. Through the village and up into another cleft through a limestone cliff and into a steady climb to the col. The road a wide one-laner, sometimes less, glued to the contours, mostly in a forest of pines decorated with too many nests of pine processionary moths. They’re called that because the caterpillars travel in long lines like trains, connected by some sort of thread between them. I’ve never seen them myself but everything I’ve heard and read says clearly they’re to be avoided as even indirect contact via tiny hairs carried by the wind can give people rashes or worse. I’ve even heard of cyclists getting sick just from having run over a line of them. I didn’t see any, just the tent-like nests. A fine climb, grades constantly shifting but never terribly steep. Well, actually there was the K after the village that was pretty stiff, apparently close to 10%. After that it was smooth rolling uphill, mostly on my 34/23 or 34/25. Without the wind in the face I might have been on smaller cogs. In other words any young, fit riders would fly up on gears way bigger than mine, wind or no wind. Views were through breaks in the forest, nothing dramatic, just forested hills, distant ridges, and the valley of fields below. Got to the col, a saddle on a low ridge, 1261 meters high, which is only 261 meters higher than where I live. Definitely not the Alps. Down to Valdrôme, fast and fun, a ropey one-laner weaving and bobbing down the slopes. Even with the wind in the face I was whipping down off the mountain. Lots of blind turns that I had to slow way down for since there was damned little room for a car and bike to pass one another. Or maybe I’ve just become more prudent in my old age. Cars were pretty rare but only takes one so… Swept through a hamlet announcing that the springs there were the source of the Drôme River. Lower down all of a sudden the road did this plunge through some open S-turns. Big gravity surge. Followed by a long run down the valley, wind still in the face, but pretty fast anyway. Got to Valdrôme, stopped at a junction with a small building and a bench in the sun. Good place for a pause. Pulled out my sandwich, glasses, map, settled in. Glanced at the time. Oops, later than I thought. Contemplated forging ahead into more unknowns against reversing what I’d just done. Guesstimated what I’d be looking at time wise as best I could considering all the unknowns. Weighing heavily on one side of the scale was the fact that reversing meant the wind on my back, for 25 Ks! I’d crossed two cyclists coming, one old guy near the col bundled-up like it was winter, the second a young guy in full race garb carrying a fast pace up what I was flying down. That vision of the young guy carrying a pace uphill was strong. The wind on the back won. A drug calling out my name. Yes! Sounds good to me. Oh man, it wasn’t good, it was friggin unbelievable, the fastest 25 K I’ve maybe ever ridden, at least in a long time, longer than I can remember. I think I did it in a little over an hour, which included the 500 meters of vertical back to the col. First 3 K or so were low single-digits. I’m in the drops, big ring, middle cogs, driving the bike hard up the road, feeling so good I can hardly believe it. Hit that rude ramp and bogged down of course but even there not so much. Some sort of psychological momentum helped carry me up it but still had to revert to my lowest gear. Then it was back into speed mode, uphill. Carried it all the way to the col. Suffered a bit of slippage up high but also had some sweet recovery over the last K so hit the col at speed. Then down. Fast, but not too fast. Road way too narrow with blind turns for that. Passed one car whose driver kindly slowed and pulled over when he saw me following him and clearly faster. Through the slot in the cliff with the wind shoving hard on my back, down through the village, and into the long valley run, 8 K of pure bliss. Low single-digit grades the whole way, the wind on my back, rolling a 50/12 just about the entire time, and maybe a third of the time not even pedaling! This was amazing. What a way to celebrate turning 71. Figuring an 80 to 90 cadence, I was flying along at around 45 kph the whole time. Okay, not exactly Cancellara or any of the pros for that matter, I mean those guys carred 45 kph for the first hour of Paris/Roubaix, which seems insane, no idea how they can do that. I also wasn’t thinking about that either. I was too occupied laughing and just soaking up the sensation of outrageous speed on a wonderful road. Reversing my route definitely was the right call. Got back to the car jacked up and nothing big smiles. One heck of a birthday ride. Nothing at all like last year’s when I rode with my son Mat, Maxn, and Sylvain and we did around 85 K as I recall with around 2000 meters of climbing but insanely good anyway. Only 50 K with around 1200+ vertical meters but that return alone totally made the day. Also discovered a sweet region for riding. Crazy how many roads there are down there, paved and dirt. Might have to venture down there from time to time. A few pics, cheers 
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#3
04-21-2016, 09:47 AM
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We're a ways away from seeing the forsythia here. Or grass that green, for that matter. Great images of the Drome, which struck me as pretty and a good deal more wild than Provence, or the Vercors which are adjacent. Thanks for sharing your very fine ride. Not bad for a 'make-do' !
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