velotel
10-24-2014, 03:17 PM
All but unknown in the world of road riders despite it being the fourth highest col in Savoie (as in traversable, not up and back). First time I ever saw its name was years ago. Didn’t pay it much attention because I’d read the last 350 vertical meters to the col are on a rough dirt track and unridable with a road bike. So I kind of put it aside.
Wormed back into my consciousness when I rode Col de Pré a few years ago. Passed through the village of Arêches and into the serious climbing. At the third switchback saw a road branching right with a sign for Lac de Saint Guérin. Small road, even narrower than the one for Pré which is already marginal for cars. Higher in the Col de Pré stackbacks I had a good view up the valley that road disappeared into. Looked gorgeous. Checked it out on a map later and discovered that was the road to the Cormet d’Arêches. And if you’re wondering, cormet apparently derives from a word in the ancient regional dialect and effectively means col. My curiosity was aroused. As in okay, not ridable by a road bike but by who’s definition?
Time passed, did some good rides including a few with dirt/gravel sections. The dirt traverse between the Col de Chaussy road and the road to Col de la Madeleine that I rode with Maxn the end of August was a real eye opener, a beautiful high mountain dirt road. A couple weeks ago I rode to the Col des Aravis then the traverse to the Col de l’Arpettaz, a ride I now consider the best I’ve ever done. What made that loop was the fifteen Ks of pure magic riding the dirt/rock chemin between the cols, an exceptional ride in every respect. Which got me thinking again about that non-ridable status of the road over the Cormet d’Arêches.
Sunday, the nineteenth of October, was one of those days anyone with even a partially functioning spirit of adventure dreams of having. Blue sky, crystalline air, autumn colors, a day for riding a bike in the mountains. Only question which mountains. Doing a repeat on the magic road from Aravis to Arpettaz was a huge temptation. An almost impossible to resist temptation. Except that I was ready for something new, something unknown, something like the Cormet d’Arêches. The clincher was the forecast, as in a major weather change rolling in with snow called for down to 1000 meters. The high cols just might get closed until next year. The Cormet d’Arêches is high, 2107 meters, so if it snows it’ll be closed. If I’m going to do it better do it while I still can. Who knows what the next year will bring.
Off to Albertville thinking I’d ride from there. Decided no, I’d worked hard all day Saturday hauling and stacking six cubic meters of firewood in the wood shed, my body was beat. The road from Albertville to Beaufort also isn’t one of my favorites, too much traffic, especially on a Sunday of glorious weather. Parked a few K short of Beaufort. Headed off slowly, spinning low gears, warming up legs whose enthusiasm for the coming adventure seemed somewhat lacking. Into Beaufort, nice town, great for cyclists, five excellent cols right out of town, lodging choices slim.
Right turn to Arêches, over the river, narrow road squeezed between buildings, into the climb. Didn’t see the K post with the grade marked on it. Must have missed it. Seems to me it was around 8,5%. Quite a bit of 8 to 9% grades out of Beaufort as I recall. My legs were thinking steeper. Into the first switchback, the road curling tight left so much it’s threatening to go airborne back over itself before curling back right. The switchback back to the right had to be supported by a huge rock and concrete wall. No cut and fill here, just squeeze the road into whatever space there is between buildings and houses and hold it up with rock walls. Through the third switchback, across the hillside, around the next switchback, still steep, still in the village. Around the fifth switchback and I can almost hear the road builders giving a sigh of relief as they finally leave the constraints of building on a steep hillside in a town.
Up across a field and I’m looking through the Défilé d’Entreroches, the gorge the road to the Cormet de Roselend passes through. The gorge dark with shadows, the mountain beyond bright with sunlight. Long turn to the right and I’m angling up towards the valley to Arêches. Across the valley somewhere there’s a small road working its way up and across the slopes. Saw it on a map. Looked like one to check out someday. Farm houses and barns in fields are scattered across the hillside. They’ve been there for generations. Amazing how many of these old farms there are in what seem like crazy places in the mountains. Italy and Switzerland are the same, or at least the areas I’ve seen. From pictures I’ve seen seems to be true for Austria too. Even more amazing is that in France and Switzerland, the roads accessing those farms are invariably paved. They’ll be one-laners clinging to the hillsides, no guardrails, no paint, intimately following every contour. In other words made for cyclists. I have a suspicion the one across the valley could be sweet. Sweet but hard.
I finally break over a roll and am heading up the valley to Arêches. Easier going but still feels hard. Decide that’s just the way the day is going to be. Only thing to do is relax, find a comfortable pace, wait and see what develops. If I don’t have the power to get to the col, it’s still going to be a fine ride in a gorgeous place on a beautiful day. What more could I ask for.
The last bit into Arêches turns out to be downhill; I’d forgotten that. Not much of a downhill but felt good anyway. Move down the cogs, spinning easy, taking a break, storing up energy for the climb to come. Arêches is small, the road narrows into one twisting lane going through. A hard, round left and with that the climb to Col de Pré is joined and I’m still in the heart of the village. The idea of doing Pré floats through the gray matter. A terrific climb, sustained hard but just gorgeous the whole way up. One of my favorite climbs. The idea is discarded as quickly as it popped up. Today is all about the Cormet d’Arêches.
Get to the fourth switchback (fifth counting that hard left in the village) where the road to Lac de Saint Guérin heads off. Fantastic start, one-laner passing through a pocket of trees with a rock wall to the left, then pinching in and swinging right over a bridge too narrow for a car and a bike to pass each other. Off the bridge and up, steep but not desperate, just honest steep, then it gets serious. For no reason whatsoever, other than wishful thinking probably, I had it in mind that this climb would be easier than the one to Pré. A long jaunt up a valley then up through a basin, not a switchbacking climb up a mountain. But there I was zigging up a slope on grades that felt as steep as those on the road to Pré. Stopped on one switchback and watched a lone cyclist riding up the stackbacks on the road to Pré. A flicker of pain flashed through my legs watching him.
The next few K were a long run up the flank of the valley in a thick forest. Sustained workout. Glanced up through the trees at one point and did a double-take when I saw an odd horizontal line stretching across the valley way above me. The top of a dam. I’d known there was a lake up here, Lac de Saint Guérin, just didn’t know it was a reservoir. We’re talking a major structure plugging the valley. Hit a switchback to the left and the grade ramped up. Out of the saddle hard. Kept thinking that if the dirt section up ahead was steeper than what I was riding so far, the reports of unridablity might be true. At least with a 34/27.
Around a switchback to the right, heading up the valley again. Broke into a clearing where I could see a good part of the dam and the lake behind it. Thought maybe now that the road was well above the dam the grade would lighten up. The road seemed to get steeper. I wasn’t complaining because here was what I’d been looking for, the upper valley and broad, alpine basins under the summits. The road was carved out of a cliff with excellent views over the lake and into the heights. As a rule I’m no great fan of reservoirs. They only look good when they’re full and even then they invariably have an artificial air to them. But have to say this one looked pretty good. It was also full.
Came around a bend and into a parking lot full of cars that was also a junction of sorts. One road seemed to drop down towards the lake, the other went left and up. And no signs. I hadn’t bothered bringing a map along. Saw a road angling across the slopes up higher and to the right. Guessed that was my road. Went left. A hundred meters further got to a T-junction, both roads paved. Which way. Road to the right looked more used. Went right. Good call, the road was a delight, a narrow strip of asphalt contouring across the hillside then curling around a shoulder.
I started feeling like I was riding a road’s evolutionary time line. Back at the beginning it was a full two laner, guard rails, paint, shoulders. Arêches was the end of guard rails, paint, and two lanes but otherwise it was a well-built road. Now the road looked like they’d just come in and poured a carpet of blacktop over the original track without bothering to run a blade over the surface. The blacktop wasn’t much wider than a car and was complete with a crown in the middle and wheel grooves on either side. It might have been primitive on the timeline of road construction but it was well maintained, no potholes, no gaping cracks. Somewhere up ahead I’d cross over onto the raw stages of its evolution, a path gouged out by machines and left like that, dirt, rock, and gravel. If it was as steep as much of the road so far, the col could be hard.
No problem. The day was too gorgeous, the mountains and basins practically glowing with light, how far I got wasn’t important. I was feeling good, my body seemed to have found the rhythm, I wasn’t soaring up the mountain like an eagle rising in a thermal but I was rolling well and smoothly, powering up through the bends and occasional switchback. I stopped regularly. Some spot of color in the distance, light dancing off a wet slab of rock or a tree in a robe of yellow backlit by the sun, I’d stop. When I’d ever be back, if ever, an unknown so plunge in all the way while I’m here. I’ve had the remarkable good fortune to ride in some beautiful places over the years. None were more striking than where I was at that moment.
The basin was mostly a vast expanse of prairie with pockets of forest. Maybe the hundreds of years of pasturing cows and sheep up here had eliminated the trees, maybe it was just geological. Whatever the reason I loved the result. I’m not a forest kind of guy. I like the wide open spaces of the desert and especially in the mountains. I love getting high in the mountains. The heights attract me like a moth to light. The perspective, looking out over the world, seeing where I’ve been, recognizing summits in the distance. And the silence, listening to nature breathe.
I was impressed by how many barns and cabins I saw scattered over the various basins. All seemed to have some sort of jeep road accessing them. Lot of hiking trails heading away from the road too. A glorious place, simple as that. At least on a silver dollar day like this one.
Up through a set of switchbacks followed by a curving straight with a bit of rudeness to the grade. Pitch went flat, another junction, end of the blacktop, at last. Break time, sandwich, coffee, views. Only thing missing was a bench like the one I stumbled upon on the track from Aravis to Arpettaz. I ate, drank, rested, looked at the road, the unridable road to the col. Didn’t look too bad from where I was sitting. Even looked like the grades might be easier. I could see its line all the way to where I imagined the col was, or at least not far from the col. The more I watched it, the more I thought that thing is definitely ridable.
It is, absolutely. Lots of technical sections for sure but really never a doubt anywhere. Harder (but way, way shorter) than the road from Aravis to Arpettaz, or least more technical. Lots of loose rocks, sand and dirt. Most of the time the grades were easier than I’d been led to expect but the surface was so broken up that picking the good line was mandatory. Also huge fun. This was momentum riding all the way. Catch a wave of power and start riding it hard and strong, front wheel following the eyes, the line constantly shifting, driving the bike through the hard bits as much with the arms as the legs. This was bike intensity 101 in the high Alps of France. Just fantastic.
Terrific views too I should say but to see them meant having to stop. Otherwise it was just blinks of vision, like watching train stations flash by in the night when you’re on the express line. I don’t remember stopping much to look. I was too deep in the fun factor. I mean the road was just a gas of a road, like it was moon-walking its way up and across this cliff and taunting me to keep riding. Quite an amazing ride through there.
Broke out of the basin and up onto the ridge then around and onto the col. A wee bit disappointing. I had it my head that there would be some terrific view of Mont Blanc or other high snow-capped peaks. Not at all. The col is down in this small trough on a broad ridge with a hump of a hill blocking the immediate view off the other side. Not sure where Mont Blanc was, probably behind a summit in the mid-distance. Cool place anyway, just not what I expected. Lot of cars in the parking, people off hiking presumably. But no cyclists. Just me. With a road bike. Might be time to rethink that unridable description. I did it with a 34/27 for the low gear and never really wished I’d had a 29. Note that that’s said by some guy who’s 69. In other words, any good young rider is going to flat fly up that road, and probably in a higher gear than I could turn over, then wonder what the fuss is all about at the top. The other side might be sweet too. A shame the two valleys are so far apart, at least for me. Riding this then looping back via the Cormet de Roselend could be awesome.
Now down, this is where the off-pavement riding can get tricky with skinny tires. Turned out to be fast and fun. Also a serious bone shaker over the dirt and rocks so I spent a lot of time off the saddle with the cranks horizontal. Put the hard hurt to the thighs and calves. The hands and arms too. But it was still great fun. I was going fast enough that a farmer in a Peugeot panel van couldn’t drop me. The two of us were flat rocking and rolling our way off the mountain. I think I was having more fun than he was.
Hit the pavement, man did that feel good! My hands were killing me so I let the brakes go. Huge acceleration! Unexpected but hugely rewarding. Like I always say, if you want to know if something’s steep, ride down it. I was sure it was steep going up but to be honest I didn’t think it was as steep as the acceleration going back down was announcing loud and clear. The bike was flat flying down the mountain, going airborn off bumps, jiggling and darting down the undulating surface, into a sweeping switchback, lean over, carve through, pure sweetness. Just kept going like that, only now I was doing the evolutionary time line tour in the opposite direction. Kind of like carving through an increasing radius switchback. The lower I got, the faster the speeds.
No idea how long it took me back to the car. I forgot to look at the time. I also stopped for a beer in Beaufort. Sat in the sun, legs stretched out, kicking back, totally content. And damned happy my car was only a few K away instead of way the hell and gone down in Albertville. I was beat, not sure I would have made it to A-town.
Okay, that’s it, another terrific Savoie ride, a special edition, have-to-ride, but probably only for a few crazy souls out there. It’s definitely high in my best rides list but how high I’m a bit ambivalent on. I need to ride it second time to know. Some pics
Wormed back into my consciousness when I rode Col de Pré a few years ago. Passed through the village of Arêches and into the serious climbing. At the third switchback saw a road branching right with a sign for Lac de Saint Guérin. Small road, even narrower than the one for Pré which is already marginal for cars. Higher in the Col de Pré stackbacks I had a good view up the valley that road disappeared into. Looked gorgeous. Checked it out on a map later and discovered that was the road to the Cormet d’Arêches. And if you’re wondering, cormet apparently derives from a word in the ancient regional dialect and effectively means col. My curiosity was aroused. As in okay, not ridable by a road bike but by who’s definition?
Time passed, did some good rides including a few with dirt/gravel sections. The dirt traverse between the Col de Chaussy road and the road to Col de la Madeleine that I rode with Maxn the end of August was a real eye opener, a beautiful high mountain dirt road. A couple weeks ago I rode to the Col des Aravis then the traverse to the Col de l’Arpettaz, a ride I now consider the best I’ve ever done. What made that loop was the fifteen Ks of pure magic riding the dirt/rock chemin between the cols, an exceptional ride in every respect. Which got me thinking again about that non-ridable status of the road over the Cormet d’Arêches.
Sunday, the nineteenth of October, was one of those days anyone with even a partially functioning spirit of adventure dreams of having. Blue sky, crystalline air, autumn colors, a day for riding a bike in the mountains. Only question which mountains. Doing a repeat on the magic road from Aravis to Arpettaz was a huge temptation. An almost impossible to resist temptation. Except that I was ready for something new, something unknown, something like the Cormet d’Arêches. The clincher was the forecast, as in a major weather change rolling in with snow called for down to 1000 meters. The high cols just might get closed until next year. The Cormet d’Arêches is high, 2107 meters, so if it snows it’ll be closed. If I’m going to do it better do it while I still can. Who knows what the next year will bring.
Off to Albertville thinking I’d ride from there. Decided no, I’d worked hard all day Saturday hauling and stacking six cubic meters of firewood in the wood shed, my body was beat. The road from Albertville to Beaufort also isn’t one of my favorites, too much traffic, especially on a Sunday of glorious weather. Parked a few K short of Beaufort. Headed off slowly, spinning low gears, warming up legs whose enthusiasm for the coming adventure seemed somewhat lacking. Into Beaufort, nice town, great for cyclists, five excellent cols right out of town, lodging choices slim.
Right turn to Arêches, over the river, narrow road squeezed between buildings, into the climb. Didn’t see the K post with the grade marked on it. Must have missed it. Seems to me it was around 8,5%. Quite a bit of 8 to 9% grades out of Beaufort as I recall. My legs were thinking steeper. Into the first switchback, the road curling tight left so much it’s threatening to go airborne back over itself before curling back right. The switchback back to the right had to be supported by a huge rock and concrete wall. No cut and fill here, just squeeze the road into whatever space there is between buildings and houses and hold it up with rock walls. Through the third switchback, across the hillside, around the next switchback, still steep, still in the village. Around the fifth switchback and I can almost hear the road builders giving a sigh of relief as they finally leave the constraints of building on a steep hillside in a town.
Up across a field and I’m looking through the Défilé d’Entreroches, the gorge the road to the Cormet de Roselend passes through. The gorge dark with shadows, the mountain beyond bright with sunlight. Long turn to the right and I’m angling up towards the valley to Arêches. Across the valley somewhere there’s a small road working its way up and across the slopes. Saw it on a map. Looked like one to check out someday. Farm houses and barns in fields are scattered across the hillside. They’ve been there for generations. Amazing how many of these old farms there are in what seem like crazy places in the mountains. Italy and Switzerland are the same, or at least the areas I’ve seen. From pictures I’ve seen seems to be true for Austria too. Even more amazing is that in France and Switzerland, the roads accessing those farms are invariably paved. They’ll be one-laners clinging to the hillsides, no guardrails, no paint, intimately following every contour. In other words made for cyclists. I have a suspicion the one across the valley could be sweet. Sweet but hard.
I finally break over a roll and am heading up the valley to Arêches. Easier going but still feels hard. Decide that’s just the way the day is going to be. Only thing to do is relax, find a comfortable pace, wait and see what develops. If I don’t have the power to get to the col, it’s still going to be a fine ride in a gorgeous place on a beautiful day. What more could I ask for.
The last bit into Arêches turns out to be downhill; I’d forgotten that. Not much of a downhill but felt good anyway. Move down the cogs, spinning easy, taking a break, storing up energy for the climb to come. Arêches is small, the road narrows into one twisting lane going through. A hard, round left and with that the climb to Col de Pré is joined and I’m still in the heart of the village. The idea of doing Pré floats through the gray matter. A terrific climb, sustained hard but just gorgeous the whole way up. One of my favorite climbs. The idea is discarded as quickly as it popped up. Today is all about the Cormet d’Arêches.
Get to the fourth switchback (fifth counting that hard left in the village) where the road to Lac de Saint Guérin heads off. Fantastic start, one-laner passing through a pocket of trees with a rock wall to the left, then pinching in and swinging right over a bridge too narrow for a car and a bike to pass each other. Off the bridge and up, steep but not desperate, just honest steep, then it gets serious. For no reason whatsoever, other than wishful thinking probably, I had it in mind that this climb would be easier than the one to Pré. A long jaunt up a valley then up through a basin, not a switchbacking climb up a mountain. But there I was zigging up a slope on grades that felt as steep as those on the road to Pré. Stopped on one switchback and watched a lone cyclist riding up the stackbacks on the road to Pré. A flicker of pain flashed through my legs watching him.
The next few K were a long run up the flank of the valley in a thick forest. Sustained workout. Glanced up through the trees at one point and did a double-take when I saw an odd horizontal line stretching across the valley way above me. The top of a dam. I’d known there was a lake up here, Lac de Saint Guérin, just didn’t know it was a reservoir. We’re talking a major structure plugging the valley. Hit a switchback to the left and the grade ramped up. Out of the saddle hard. Kept thinking that if the dirt section up ahead was steeper than what I was riding so far, the reports of unridablity might be true. At least with a 34/27.
Around a switchback to the right, heading up the valley again. Broke into a clearing where I could see a good part of the dam and the lake behind it. Thought maybe now that the road was well above the dam the grade would lighten up. The road seemed to get steeper. I wasn’t complaining because here was what I’d been looking for, the upper valley and broad, alpine basins under the summits. The road was carved out of a cliff with excellent views over the lake and into the heights. As a rule I’m no great fan of reservoirs. They only look good when they’re full and even then they invariably have an artificial air to them. But have to say this one looked pretty good. It was also full.
Came around a bend and into a parking lot full of cars that was also a junction of sorts. One road seemed to drop down towards the lake, the other went left and up. And no signs. I hadn’t bothered bringing a map along. Saw a road angling across the slopes up higher and to the right. Guessed that was my road. Went left. A hundred meters further got to a T-junction, both roads paved. Which way. Road to the right looked more used. Went right. Good call, the road was a delight, a narrow strip of asphalt contouring across the hillside then curling around a shoulder.
I started feeling like I was riding a road’s evolutionary time line. Back at the beginning it was a full two laner, guard rails, paint, shoulders. Arêches was the end of guard rails, paint, and two lanes but otherwise it was a well-built road. Now the road looked like they’d just come in and poured a carpet of blacktop over the original track without bothering to run a blade over the surface. The blacktop wasn’t much wider than a car and was complete with a crown in the middle and wheel grooves on either side. It might have been primitive on the timeline of road construction but it was well maintained, no potholes, no gaping cracks. Somewhere up ahead I’d cross over onto the raw stages of its evolution, a path gouged out by machines and left like that, dirt, rock, and gravel. If it was as steep as much of the road so far, the col could be hard.
No problem. The day was too gorgeous, the mountains and basins practically glowing with light, how far I got wasn’t important. I was feeling good, my body seemed to have found the rhythm, I wasn’t soaring up the mountain like an eagle rising in a thermal but I was rolling well and smoothly, powering up through the bends and occasional switchback. I stopped regularly. Some spot of color in the distance, light dancing off a wet slab of rock or a tree in a robe of yellow backlit by the sun, I’d stop. When I’d ever be back, if ever, an unknown so plunge in all the way while I’m here. I’ve had the remarkable good fortune to ride in some beautiful places over the years. None were more striking than where I was at that moment.
The basin was mostly a vast expanse of prairie with pockets of forest. Maybe the hundreds of years of pasturing cows and sheep up here had eliminated the trees, maybe it was just geological. Whatever the reason I loved the result. I’m not a forest kind of guy. I like the wide open spaces of the desert and especially in the mountains. I love getting high in the mountains. The heights attract me like a moth to light. The perspective, looking out over the world, seeing where I’ve been, recognizing summits in the distance. And the silence, listening to nature breathe.
I was impressed by how many barns and cabins I saw scattered over the various basins. All seemed to have some sort of jeep road accessing them. Lot of hiking trails heading away from the road too. A glorious place, simple as that. At least on a silver dollar day like this one.
Up through a set of switchbacks followed by a curving straight with a bit of rudeness to the grade. Pitch went flat, another junction, end of the blacktop, at last. Break time, sandwich, coffee, views. Only thing missing was a bench like the one I stumbled upon on the track from Aravis to Arpettaz. I ate, drank, rested, looked at the road, the unridable road to the col. Didn’t look too bad from where I was sitting. Even looked like the grades might be easier. I could see its line all the way to where I imagined the col was, or at least not far from the col. The more I watched it, the more I thought that thing is definitely ridable.
It is, absolutely. Lots of technical sections for sure but really never a doubt anywhere. Harder (but way, way shorter) than the road from Aravis to Arpettaz, or least more technical. Lots of loose rocks, sand and dirt. Most of the time the grades were easier than I’d been led to expect but the surface was so broken up that picking the good line was mandatory. Also huge fun. This was momentum riding all the way. Catch a wave of power and start riding it hard and strong, front wheel following the eyes, the line constantly shifting, driving the bike through the hard bits as much with the arms as the legs. This was bike intensity 101 in the high Alps of France. Just fantastic.
Terrific views too I should say but to see them meant having to stop. Otherwise it was just blinks of vision, like watching train stations flash by in the night when you’re on the express line. I don’t remember stopping much to look. I was too deep in the fun factor. I mean the road was just a gas of a road, like it was moon-walking its way up and across this cliff and taunting me to keep riding. Quite an amazing ride through there.
Broke out of the basin and up onto the ridge then around and onto the col. A wee bit disappointing. I had it my head that there would be some terrific view of Mont Blanc or other high snow-capped peaks. Not at all. The col is down in this small trough on a broad ridge with a hump of a hill blocking the immediate view off the other side. Not sure where Mont Blanc was, probably behind a summit in the mid-distance. Cool place anyway, just not what I expected. Lot of cars in the parking, people off hiking presumably. But no cyclists. Just me. With a road bike. Might be time to rethink that unridable description. I did it with a 34/27 for the low gear and never really wished I’d had a 29. Note that that’s said by some guy who’s 69. In other words, any good young rider is going to flat fly up that road, and probably in a higher gear than I could turn over, then wonder what the fuss is all about at the top. The other side might be sweet too. A shame the two valleys are so far apart, at least for me. Riding this then looping back via the Cormet de Roselend could be awesome.
Now down, this is where the off-pavement riding can get tricky with skinny tires. Turned out to be fast and fun. Also a serious bone shaker over the dirt and rocks so I spent a lot of time off the saddle with the cranks horizontal. Put the hard hurt to the thighs and calves. The hands and arms too. But it was still great fun. I was going fast enough that a farmer in a Peugeot panel van couldn’t drop me. The two of us were flat rocking and rolling our way off the mountain. I think I was having more fun than he was.
Hit the pavement, man did that feel good! My hands were killing me so I let the brakes go. Huge acceleration! Unexpected but hugely rewarding. Like I always say, if you want to know if something’s steep, ride down it. I was sure it was steep going up but to be honest I didn’t think it was as steep as the acceleration going back down was announcing loud and clear. The bike was flat flying down the mountain, going airborn off bumps, jiggling and darting down the undulating surface, into a sweeping switchback, lean over, carve through, pure sweetness. Just kept going like that, only now I was doing the evolutionary time line tour in the opposite direction. Kind of like carving through an increasing radius switchback. The lower I got, the faster the speeds.
No idea how long it took me back to the car. I forgot to look at the time. I also stopped for a beer in Beaufort. Sat in the sun, legs stretched out, kicking back, totally content. And damned happy my car was only a few K away instead of way the hell and gone down in Albertville. I was beat, not sure I would have made it to A-town.
Okay, that’s it, another terrific Savoie ride, a special edition, have-to-ride, but probably only for a few crazy souls out there. It’s definitely high in my best rides list but how high I’m a bit ambivalent on. I need to ride it second time to know. Some pics