velotel
11-02-2013, 04:10 PM
My being in France was the result of pure chance and having the good sense to jump on the chance. My jumping took a few years but, still, here I am.
I’d never been to France or Europe. A mountain guy either in the high valleys of Colorado or the red canyons of Utah. Never gave the idea of going to Europe much thought. A little back in the 60s when I was a ski instructor (glorified ski bum if you want) in Aspen when for awhile there was a strong french influence after Killy came on the scene. I even had the opportunity to ski with Killy and some of his teammates after he and they had cleaned up at the 68 Games and that definitely got me a bit amped up to fly over. Faded pretty quickly though and that was that for dreams of going to Europe. Especially after I moved over the mountains to Crested Butte.
Many years later I started Mountain Bike Magazine. Kind of crazy given that outside of writing for Skiing Magazine I knew nothing about publishing and the magazine business. Ignorance didn’t seem like a major problem at the time so it was pedal to the medal, accelerating into the darkness with no map, no lights, and a gas tank running mostly on fumes. Seemed like a terrific idea at the time. Pure ad lib. Amazingly it all worked out. Ended up selling the mag to Rodale Press and Bicycling and worked for them for a few years. That we weren’t listening to the same music and barely even walking on the same planet was pretty obvious from just about the get go but unbeknownst to Bicycling, I had to sell. The fumes in the gas tank were getting weaker and weaker.
A few years later the guy Bicycling had brought in to run the mag suggested I go to France to cover a mountain bike race down near St Tropez. Struck me as a fine idea since I’d been semi-dreaming of going to Chamonix for years. Off I went to France for a three week trip. Spoke not a word of french, knew no one in France. No problem. Especially since the mag was picking up the tab.
Went to St Tropez, spent a week with the organizer and the crew putting together the race and then covering the race itself. Rode my faithful custom Salsa, complete with Campy OR I should add, every day. Had a wonderful time, to say the least. After that the plan was off to Chamonix somehow. No idea how but figured something would work out. I’m at the race and hear a voice calling my name and asking what in the heck I was doing there! Turned out to be an english guy who had been to Crested Butte and met me there, though I didn’t remember at all, and had a mountain bike shop in Chamonix. He and a bunch of people had come down in a bus they’d hired and I was instantly invited to join them. Turned out there was also an american mountain bike racer whose name I don’t remember who was very good, often on the podium, and he was based in Chamonix and said I could stay with him and drive up with him. And with that I was covered for part two of my adventure.
The third week was also kind of covered by accident. The editor of some french mountain bike magazine spoke a little english and told me forget Chamonix, the mountain biking there is no good, I should go to Grenoble instead. I nodded my head politely and heard him out, all the time thinking he was totally nuts because of course I was going to Chamonix and why on earth would I want to go to Grenoble, a city for damn sakes! He also introduced me to some guy from Grenoble and told me that’s who I want to ride with. Well, what the heck, nothing else planned for week three so why not. If it’s a bust, I can always go back to Chamonix.
Chamonix was not a bust. The riding was beautiful, hard but beautiful. I loved the place. Made me have strong doubts about going to Grenoble but it was set up so the day arrived, got on the train, went to Grenoble where the guy met me at the station. A little guy, thin as a rail. Turned out to be one of the finest mountain bikers I’ve ever had the privilege to ride with. Plus the riding around Grenoble turned out to be very good too.
Also turned out he didn’t speak much english but we got along well anyway. The first night he took me to his place to have dinner with he and his girl friend. Tiny house on the hill above town. Never been in such a small house. He went off and used the phone. Had no idea what he was saying of course. Turned out he asked a friend to come over who spoke more english than he did. The answer was no, it was late, she was a long way from town, no way. He insisted, she came in the end. Walked in the door and I looked up and thought, ‘who the heck is this!’ She looked at me and thought ‘who the heck is this!’
I was in Grenoble for almost a week, rode every day with Olivier, and every night we ate with his girlfriend and two other couples. The woman who had walked into the house that first night was half of one of the couples. The week ended, I flew home wondering how I was going to tell my wife we really needed to move to France for awhile. I had totally fallen in love with the place. Never had the chance to tell her. A bit later she went for a long trip with friends to mountain bike in Baja. Came home and told me we were finished, she was going to file for a divorce. Turned out the woman I’d met at Olivier’s in France had been in the process of separating from her husband. Discovered that later.
She came over for a visit. I flew over to France for a visit. Ended up flying a lot to France. So much I was always getting upgraded to business class. That was slick. Back when frequent flyer miles meant something for the average flyer. Finally decided to sell my home in Crested Butte and move over. That was almost four years after I met her. Like I said way back at the beginning, I was slow on the jumping program, much to her frustration but she was patient.
Our meeting was pure chance, a chance so slight that mathematically I suppose giving it odds was impossible . Her world and mine were barely on the same planet. Normally we never, ever would have even had our shadows pass each other at a distance. She was an executive for a huge french corporation, I was a mountain bum from Colorado. Yet there it was, through a series of happenchance encounters, for an instant our paths crossed. Next year will make 20 years we’ve been married.
Living in France is insanely good for me. I was a road biker long before mountain bikes came along. Lost the fun out of boredom riding the roads in the mountains of Colorado. Then rediscovered the joy of riding with mountain bikes. Those fat tires in turn brought me to France where I totally rediscovered the passion of riding skinny tires on asphalt. I’ve ridden a little in Italy, a little in Switzerland, and in France only here in the southeast and mostly right here in the Rhône Alpes region. I’ve seen enough posts to know that there’s terrific riding in the states. I know there’s no such thing as the best. That said, for myself the roads of France are the best. Period. I am forever stunned at how much fun riding here is, how much variety there is, and how much freedom there is to ride however I like. Living in France for me as a cyclist is like being a skier living in the best ski terrain in the world. Which run shall I ski today or rather which road shall I ride today. I don’t do tours, I just do day rides of varying lengths. Most of the time not long enough but that’s just the way it is at the moment.
And every time I’m out there on one of these glorious roads I think about how much my son and his friends would love to ride that road. He’s an avid biker, comes over but not nearly enough, and loves the riding here. I think about him every ride at some point and how he’d be loving that ride and later I write up something about the ride and send it along to him with pics I took along the way. What I post here are modified versions of what I write for him. I post them because I’ve discovered that there are a few forum members who love the kind of riding I have here. I don’t know you and simultaneously I know you well and I can’t help but think when I’m out there on one of these crazy roads, you guys (since unfortunately there don’t seem to be any or at least very many women on the forum) would love this road. So I try to tell you about it as best I can. Give you something to dream about because there’s simply no doubt whatsoever, you’d love the riding here.
After the string of strange circumstances that led me here, I suppose this is how I pay back all that I received that got me here, sharing with you what riding here is all about. Who knows, maybe you’ll come over to ride and one thing leads to another and another and next thing you know you’re looking at riding here regularly. But like I said, there is no best. There’s great riding everywhere. This is just some of it and for whatever reasons, I enjoy telling you about the roads of France.
My posts are invariably long, probably too long for many, but at least there are lots of pics to look at. Not great pics because I’m not some super talented photographer, just a guy on a bike with a camera who enjoys shooting pics of roads. That alone might be enough to have me sent to a funny farm; I mean how many people are out there taking pictures of friggin roads already! My hope is that at least some of the shots of roads will leap out at you and make you go, I have got to ride that road, that’s the one I’ve been looking for!
This has been long, sorry about that. Just something I’ve wanted to express for awhile. A long-winded way to thank you for reading and looking or maybe just looking at my posts and from time to time commenting on them. Guess I better post up at least one pic. Here’s a self-portrait so if we cross paths you’ll know me. Cheers
I’d never been to France or Europe. A mountain guy either in the high valleys of Colorado or the red canyons of Utah. Never gave the idea of going to Europe much thought. A little back in the 60s when I was a ski instructor (glorified ski bum if you want) in Aspen when for awhile there was a strong french influence after Killy came on the scene. I even had the opportunity to ski with Killy and some of his teammates after he and they had cleaned up at the 68 Games and that definitely got me a bit amped up to fly over. Faded pretty quickly though and that was that for dreams of going to Europe. Especially after I moved over the mountains to Crested Butte.
Many years later I started Mountain Bike Magazine. Kind of crazy given that outside of writing for Skiing Magazine I knew nothing about publishing and the magazine business. Ignorance didn’t seem like a major problem at the time so it was pedal to the medal, accelerating into the darkness with no map, no lights, and a gas tank running mostly on fumes. Seemed like a terrific idea at the time. Pure ad lib. Amazingly it all worked out. Ended up selling the mag to Rodale Press and Bicycling and worked for them for a few years. That we weren’t listening to the same music and barely even walking on the same planet was pretty obvious from just about the get go but unbeknownst to Bicycling, I had to sell. The fumes in the gas tank were getting weaker and weaker.
A few years later the guy Bicycling had brought in to run the mag suggested I go to France to cover a mountain bike race down near St Tropez. Struck me as a fine idea since I’d been semi-dreaming of going to Chamonix for years. Off I went to France for a three week trip. Spoke not a word of french, knew no one in France. No problem. Especially since the mag was picking up the tab.
Went to St Tropez, spent a week with the organizer and the crew putting together the race and then covering the race itself. Rode my faithful custom Salsa, complete with Campy OR I should add, every day. Had a wonderful time, to say the least. After that the plan was off to Chamonix somehow. No idea how but figured something would work out. I’m at the race and hear a voice calling my name and asking what in the heck I was doing there! Turned out to be an english guy who had been to Crested Butte and met me there, though I didn’t remember at all, and had a mountain bike shop in Chamonix. He and a bunch of people had come down in a bus they’d hired and I was instantly invited to join them. Turned out there was also an american mountain bike racer whose name I don’t remember who was very good, often on the podium, and he was based in Chamonix and said I could stay with him and drive up with him. And with that I was covered for part two of my adventure.
The third week was also kind of covered by accident. The editor of some french mountain bike magazine spoke a little english and told me forget Chamonix, the mountain biking there is no good, I should go to Grenoble instead. I nodded my head politely and heard him out, all the time thinking he was totally nuts because of course I was going to Chamonix and why on earth would I want to go to Grenoble, a city for damn sakes! He also introduced me to some guy from Grenoble and told me that’s who I want to ride with. Well, what the heck, nothing else planned for week three so why not. If it’s a bust, I can always go back to Chamonix.
Chamonix was not a bust. The riding was beautiful, hard but beautiful. I loved the place. Made me have strong doubts about going to Grenoble but it was set up so the day arrived, got on the train, went to Grenoble where the guy met me at the station. A little guy, thin as a rail. Turned out to be one of the finest mountain bikers I’ve ever had the privilege to ride with. Plus the riding around Grenoble turned out to be very good too.
Also turned out he didn’t speak much english but we got along well anyway. The first night he took me to his place to have dinner with he and his girl friend. Tiny house on the hill above town. Never been in such a small house. He went off and used the phone. Had no idea what he was saying of course. Turned out he asked a friend to come over who spoke more english than he did. The answer was no, it was late, she was a long way from town, no way. He insisted, she came in the end. Walked in the door and I looked up and thought, ‘who the heck is this!’ She looked at me and thought ‘who the heck is this!’
I was in Grenoble for almost a week, rode every day with Olivier, and every night we ate with his girlfriend and two other couples. The woman who had walked into the house that first night was half of one of the couples. The week ended, I flew home wondering how I was going to tell my wife we really needed to move to France for awhile. I had totally fallen in love with the place. Never had the chance to tell her. A bit later she went for a long trip with friends to mountain bike in Baja. Came home and told me we were finished, she was going to file for a divorce. Turned out the woman I’d met at Olivier’s in France had been in the process of separating from her husband. Discovered that later.
She came over for a visit. I flew over to France for a visit. Ended up flying a lot to France. So much I was always getting upgraded to business class. That was slick. Back when frequent flyer miles meant something for the average flyer. Finally decided to sell my home in Crested Butte and move over. That was almost four years after I met her. Like I said way back at the beginning, I was slow on the jumping program, much to her frustration but she was patient.
Our meeting was pure chance, a chance so slight that mathematically I suppose giving it odds was impossible . Her world and mine were barely on the same planet. Normally we never, ever would have even had our shadows pass each other at a distance. She was an executive for a huge french corporation, I was a mountain bum from Colorado. Yet there it was, through a series of happenchance encounters, for an instant our paths crossed. Next year will make 20 years we’ve been married.
Living in France is insanely good for me. I was a road biker long before mountain bikes came along. Lost the fun out of boredom riding the roads in the mountains of Colorado. Then rediscovered the joy of riding with mountain bikes. Those fat tires in turn brought me to France where I totally rediscovered the passion of riding skinny tires on asphalt. I’ve ridden a little in Italy, a little in Switzerland, and in France only here in the southeast and mostly right here in the Rhône Alpes region. I’ve seen enough posts to know that there’s terrific riding in the states. I know there’s no such thing as the best. That said, for myself the roads of France are the best. Period. I am forever stunned at how much fun riding here is, how much variety there is, and how much freedom there is to ride however I like. Living in France for me as a cyclist is like being a skier living in the best ski terrain in the world. Which run shall I ski today or rather which road shall I ride today. I don’t do tours, I just do day rides of varying lengths. Most of the time not long enough but that’s just the way it is at the moment.
And every time I’m out there on one of these glorious roads I think about how much my son and his friends would love to ride that road. He’s an avid biker, comes over but not nearly enough, and loves the riding here. I think about him every ride at some point and how he’d be loving that ride and later I write up something about the ride and send it along to him with pics I took along the way. What I post here are modified versions of what I write for him. I post them because I’ve discovered that there are a few forum members who love the kind of riding I have here. I don’t know you and simultaneously I know you well and I can’t help but think when I’m out there on one of these crazy roads, you guys (since unfortunately there don’t seem to be any or at least very many women on the forum) would love this road. So I try to tell you about it as best I can. Give you something to dream about because there’s simply no doubt whatsoever, you’d love the riding here.
After the string of strange circumstances that led me here, I suppose this is how I pay back all that I received that got me here, sharing with you what riding here is all about. Who knows, maybe you’ll come over to ride and one thing leads to another and another and next thing you know you’re looking at riding here regularly. But like I said, there is no best. There’s great riding everywhere. This is just some of it and for whatever reasons, I enjoy telling you about the roads of France.
My posts are invariably long, probably too long for many, but at least there are lots of pics to look at. Not great pics because I’m not some super talented photographer, just a guy on a bike with a camera who enjoys shooting pics of roads. That alone might be enough to have me sent to a funny farm; I mean how many people are out there taking pictures of friggin roads already! My hope is that at least some of the shots of roads will leap out at you and make you go, I have got to ride that road, that’s the one I’ve been looking for!
This has been long, sorry about that. Just something I’ve wanted to express for awhile. A long-winded way to thank you for reading and looking or maybe just looking at my posts and from time to time commenting on them. Guess I better post up at least one pic. Here’s a self-portrait so if we cross paths you’ll know me. Cheers