velotel
01-06-2014, 04:05 AM
Amazing how time can pass without noticing and before I know it, ages have gone by since last I visited old and good friends. Winter seems the season for renewing those old friendships, days shorter, fewer places to go, more sticking around the neighborhood so to speak. Like yesterday.
Saturday evening we were down in the valley for dinner with friends. Late return, almost midnight, raining hard generously accompanied by a howling wind, halfway up the climb the rain turned to snow. The closer to the plateau, the harder the snow, but not sticking to the road. Or not yet. Got to the house and the snow was sticking. Did the dog walk, snowing and blowing so hard I could barely see. Short walk, dog was in complete agreement. Up a little after 6:00, not a cloud in sight. And lots of snow. Well, not that much, around 25cm maybe, enough to start up the snow blower later. Sun broke over the mountains, lighting up the trees, every branch with a delicate ridge of snow balanced on top. Gorgeous. Slow breakfast watching the spectacle unfold. Moved the spotting scope to search for chamois on the mountain above. There’s a dozen or so that live up there and even stay up there until the snow becomes too deep. Found 6 of them on small ledges on a cliff. Amazing how they can live up there.
Finished clearing snow by 10:30, by noon the thin layer of snow that remains behind had melted. Looked like an afternoon for a roll. But not on the plateau, not so soon after the snow, takes a day or two at least for the shady spots to be free of snow and ice so time to head down to the valley, time to visit old friends, the roads on a hill across the valley, roads I know well. Hadn’t seen them in a good bit of time.
Starts off with almost 3K of straight and flat next to the railroad tracks. Road narrow enough that cars passing me have to slow and tiptoe the left-side wheels on the edge of the blacktop. The trains are amazingly quiet, passing me in a rush of air pushed aside by their gleaming bodies. Or at least the new slick-looking aero-trains are all shiny. The old trains are so covered with layers of graffiti the only way they’d ever gleam is with a thick coating of ice on every surface. Lot of walkers on the road, families out for a stroll, enjoying the unseasonably warm temperatures. Invariably they’re spread across the road but someone always seems to have good hearing because before I’ve even had to slow down, the word’s been passed and they’re splitting up, moving to the sides, and I blow through in a wave of bonjours exchanged.
Road turns, crosses the tracks, wanders across a fruit orchard and into a village of small subdivisions. Across the main highway via a round-about and onto a small road heading straight at the hill until turns left literally at the base of the slopes. This is the old part of the village from back when villages were built at the base of the slopes to leave the flat valley floor free for agriculture. Narrow road squeezed between stone and wood houses and barns. They’re in tight against the hill and this time of year don’t see the sun until late afternoon. Not for me.
Hit the road I’ve been heading for, a small one winding up the mountain. Around a hard bend to the left and up, grade steep but not desperate, just an honest climbing pitch. It’s late in the day and the sun’s coming in at a low angle, lighting up the hill in the soft hues of winter. Up past an old, weathered road cut covered in dry grasses. I can’t resist, turn around, go down, ride back up past it again, only now with the camera in one hand, shooting away. Self-portraits on the bike. Always a kick to see what comes out when I load the pics in the computer.
I have no idea how many times I’ve ridden this road over the years, other than a lot. Doesn’t matter, it’s still as much a pleasure as always. I find myself thinking I’d forgotten how much I like riding this road. Almost no traffic, up through a still woods, through some switchbacks, traverse a small hamlet and a pocket of grape vines and fruit trees. Down a fast hill to a junction with a main road through the valley and an even smaller road that heads up the mountain. I take the little road. Steep grade and I’m on the my biggest cog, settled into an unhurried pace, enjoying the light and the silence of water tumbling over rocks and dry leaves rustling from maybe mice scurrying around. Through a hamlet of houses clinging to the hillsides, around a switchback, in front of me high summits covered in white. A fine ride, nothing but smiles.
Sun lost over the horizon, only the tips of the peaks still lit, time to turn around. Right after I start down, a car comes up fast behind me like he wants to pass. I say he because given the narrowness of the roadway and that we’re just about to enter a blind turn, chances are all but guaranteed the driver’s a guy. He’s also dreaming. There’s no way he’s going to be faster than me going down this hill. Not unless he’s completely berserk in the head because this is a road for bikes, not cars. Through the turn and into the plunge and I’m off, the car behind. Through some more hard turns, he loses more distance, into a small straight, I hear him accelerating, but not enough. No way. Into a hamlet and a series of three rather abrupt speed bumps. I come in flying, front wheel lift, and I’m over like there was nothing there, the car is history. Don’t even hear him again until the junction with the main road where I have to slow for the stop sign.
Seriously fun downhill with all the good qualities, grades steep enough for nice acceleration but not so steep that the brakes are forever in play, a surface jumping around enough to keep the focus honest, and good, round turns requiring a fine technique to get through fast and clean. I’d forgotten how much fun that downhill is. Like I said, visiting old friends and rediscovering the joy of passing time with them. And always with the same reaction afterwards, I really need to do that more often.
A few photos just for the heck of it. Cheers and best wishes for a plentitude of good rides in 014.
Saturday evening we were down in the valley for dinner with friends. Late return, almost midnight, raining hard generously accompanied by a howling wind, halfway up the climb the rain turned to snow. The closer to the plateau, the harder the snow, but not sticking to the road. Or not yet. Got to the house and the snow was sticking. Did the dog walk, snowing and blowing so hard I could barely see. Short walk, dog was in complete agreement. Up a little after 6:00, not a cloud in sight. And lots of snow. Well, not that much, around 25cm maybe, enough to start up the snow blower later. Sun broke over the mountains, lighting up the trees, every branch with a delicate ridge of snow balanced on top. Gorgeous. Slow breakfast watching the spectacle unfold. Moved the spotting scope to search for chamois on the mountain above. There’s a dozen or so that live up there and even stay up there until the snow becomes too deep. Found 6 of them on small ledges on a cliff. Amazing how they can live up there.
Finished clearing snow by 10:30, by noon the thin layer of snow that remains behind had melted. Looked like an afternoon for a roll. But not on the plateau, not so soon after the snow, takes a day or two at least for the shady spots to be free of snow and ice so time to head down to the valley, time to visit old friends, the roads on a hill across the valley, roads I know well. Hadn’t seen them in a good bit of time.
Starts off with almost 3K of straight and flat next to the railroad tracks. Road narrow enough that cars passing me have to slow and tiptoe the left-side wheels on the edge of the blacktop. The trains are amazingly quiet, passing me in a rush of air pushed aside by their gleaming bodies. Or at least the new slick-looking aero-trains are all shiny. The old trains are so covered with layers of graffiti the only way they’d ever gleam is with a thick coating of ice on every surface. Lot of walkers on the road, families out for a stroll, enjoying the unseasonably warm temperatures. Invariably they’re spread across the road but someone always seems to have good hearing because before I’ve even had to slow down, the word’s been passed and they’re splitting up, moving to the sides, and I blow through in a wave of bonjours exchanged.
Road turns, crosses the tracks, wanders across a fruit orchard and into a village of small subdivisions. Across the main highway via a round-about and onto a small road heading straight at the hill until turns left literally at the base of the slopes. This is the old part of the village from back when villages were built at the base of the slopes to leave the flat valley floor free for agriculture. Narrow road squeezed between stone and wood houses and barns. They’re in tight against the hill and this time of year don’t see the sun until late afternoon. Not for me.
Hit the road I’ve been heading for, a small one winding up the mountain. Around a hard bend to the left and up, grade steep but not desperate, just an honest climbing pitch. It’s late in the day and the sun’s coming in at a low angle, lighting up the hill in the soft hues of winter. Up past an old, weathered road cut covered in dry grasses. I can’t resist, turn around, go down, ride back up past it again, only now with the camera in one hand, shooting away. Self-portraits on the bike. Always a kick to see what comes out when I load the pics in the computer.
I have no idea how many times I’ve ridden this road over the years, other than a lot. Doesn’t matter, it’s still as much a pleasure as always. I find myself thinking I’d forgotten how much I like riding this road. Almost no traffic, up through a still woods, through some switchbacks, traverse a small hamlet and a pocket of grape vines and fruit trees. Down a fast hill to a junction with a main road through the valley and an even smaller road that heads up the mountain. I take the little road. Steep grade and I’m on the my biggest cog, settled into an unhurried pace, enjoying the light and the silence of water tumbling over rocks and dry leaves rustling from maybe mice scurrying around. Through a hamlet of houses clinging to the hillsides, around a switchback, in front of me high summits covered in white. A fine ride, nothing but smiles.
Sun lost over the horizon, only the tips of the peaks still lit, time to turn around. Right after I start down, a car comes up fast behind me like he wants to pass. I say he because given the narrowness of the roadway and that we’re just about to enter a blind turn, chances are all but guaranteed the driver’s a guy. He’s also dreaming. There’s no way he’s going to be faster than me going down this hill. Not unless he’s completely berserk in the head because this is a road for bikes, not cars. Through the turn and into the plunge and I’m off, the car behind. Through some more hard turns, he loses more distance, into a small straight, I hear him accelerating, but not enough. No way. Into a hamlet and a series of three rather abrupt speed bumps. I come in flying, front wheel lift, and I’m over like there was nothing there, the car is history. Don’t even hear him again until the junction with the main road where I have to slow for the stop sign.
Seriously fun downhill with all the good qualities, grades steep enough for nice acceleration but not so steep that the brakes are forever in play, a surface jumping around enough to keep the focus honest, and good, round turns requiring a fine technique to get through fast and clean. I’d forgotten how much fun that downhill is. Like I said, visiting old friends and rediscovering the joy of passing time with them. And always with the same reaction afterwards, I really need to do that more often.
A few photos just for the heck of it. Cheers and best wishes for a plentitude of good rides in 014.