velotel
11-29-2014, 02:52 AM
If you’ve been following basilic’s excellent photos on the ‘what does fall riding look like’ thread, you’ve seen the fine weather France has been enjoying. Saturday the weather gods continued to smile. Decided to head down into the Trièves to revisit the Col du Noyer. Rode it on the first of June with Maxn and my son Mat, a fabulous ride. This time wanted to do it the opposite direction, counterclockwise. The easy way, according to profiles. I like doing cols in both directions. Find out which direction is best.
Checked on the net, Noyer was open. For once got an early start. But not too early. Morning’s are cold, up in the Trièves could be some ice on the roads in the morning. Took the autoroute out of Grenoble to the Col de Fau above Monestier-de-Clermont, the autoroute that ran out of gas, the highway equivalent of a dangling participle, full of promise and high expectations but never clearly tied to anything. Climbs up the valley out of Grenoble to a low col overlooking the Trièves where it ends. My guess a permanent state of affairs. Makes getting to the edge of the Trièves fast and easy. Then a narrow, twisting line of a road working its way down into a tight gorge and a bridge then up the other side and on to Mens. A road for bikes but not this time. Into the village of Mens, kind of like traveling back into medieval times and discovering your credit card still works. Lots of parked cars, thought there’d be a market in full swing but no, just Saturday morning.
Drove for another half hour or so, over the Col de Saint Sébastion and out and around on one of the finest roads for bikes in the region. I could hear my bike ragging at me in rather harsh words about being a lazy sob and not letting him out of the car to roll over this magnificent road. I was in total agreement with the bike but my legs were screaming at me even more harshly not to stop the damn car and to keep on driving. My legs won.
Arrived on the plateau with the two towering wind generators turning ever so slowly in a light wind. Down through the almost-village of Pellafol and parked on a point overlooking Lake Sautet, a reservoir for generating electricity. A strong current of cold air was flowing down out of the Défilé de la Souloise, the narrow gorge I’d ride up through on the way to Noyer. Rolled off, my bike finally content, my legs grudgingly content. Long straight to kick the festivities off, easy spinning. Would have been fast spinning but for that river of air coming down out of the canyon, right in my face. Up ahead the left side of the gorge was lost in black shadows while the right side was exploding in color. Most of the color was coming from swaths of mélèze, a sort of connifer whose needles turn orange in the autumn then fall to the ground. Tall, straight trees that can live for hundreds of years. I’d thought the colors would be finished but instead I was riding into a gorgeous display of yellows and oranges against a backdrop of snow-capped mountains.
The valley pinched in just before the gorge, the road contouring across steep slopes in a series of sweeping turns. Big gear spinning, carrying speed, flying through a forest of pines, accelerating down a light grade into a hard left and past a junction with the road that I’d ride back on after crossing the col. Over the river crashing down out of the defile, a long turn to the right and I start my steady march up the cogs. I glance up to the right and have to stop, pull out the camera, shoot. Scattered splashes of orange glowing out of a forest of deep green on slopes soaring up to rock cliffs layered with snow and finally a field of brilliant white on a summit still higher yet.
The defile is short, the valley opening up as I approach the village of Saint Disdier. High up to the left the spire of a church stabbing into a blue sky, behind in the background a wall of cliffs and snow towering over the valley. Spot a sign and an arrow for a road that climbs to the church up above, called the ‘mère église’, translated means mother church but apparently the ancient origin of the name is unknown and mère may in fact not mean mother. The chapel dates from the 11th or 12th centuries and was designated a historic monument back in 1927. Currently in a slow process of restoration done by an association of volunteers.
Out of Saint Disdier and past a junction, to the right the road to Col du Festre and on to the town of Veynes. Drove that road long ago but never ridden it. Memory of it is a bit vague but as I recall a potentially interesting road, just don’t see it falling into any loop I’d want to do. I ride through the junction with barely a glance at the road to Festre and into a long cruiser section, low single-digit grades almost all the way except for one short piece where the road flips through a switchback and up a moderately steep grade then around a long, lazy curve to the right where I hit the steepest ramp so far. Doesn’t last which is fine by me. Sweet riding, effort needed but the demand is low key. The steep bit popped me out of a dark forest and into a long run over a round, soft plateau on grades that weren’t far off flat. After awhile I notice I’ve moved down the cogs and up onto the big ring and am flat high-balling down the road. The whole time I’m sitting up and looking around across fields curving down to the river then up the other side to a long, high, rugged ridge of rock summits gleaming under a layer of snow. The snow had fallen pretty low; I’d ridden by pockets of it on the northern exposures in the shade. I’d also ridden past a sign back in Saint Disdier announcing that the Col du Noyer was closed, which I ignored. Figured it was a seasonal closure based on the date rather than on snow. Those pockets of snow in the shade along the road started me worrying that maybe it really was closed. Up ahead I could see the slopes around Saint Etienne, the village just before the climb to Noyer kicks in, were looking disappointingly white, especially the northern exposures. Started thinking I might need a Plan B if the col really was closed.
A little further on I hit the potential Plan B, a junction with a road angling across over the hills in the middle of the huge basin. Links to the Col de Festre. Just past the junction there’s a bridge over a narrow gorge carved out by the river coming down from Saint Etienne. Stopped on the bridge to look down into a slot canyon deep inside the bedrock. So dark inside couldn’t see the bottom. Back on the bike, heading to Saint Etienne, up through some swingers carved out of a cliff, and I’m there. A ghost town. Everything’s closed, not a sign of life. Hadn’t seen a car on the road in a long time either. Started to feel like I was maybe the last person on earth. Strange sensation. I mean the place was deserted. We’re talking total off-season here.
Get to the turn for the col and another sign saying the col’s closed. There’s snow not all that far above me. Meanwhile I’m sweating under a hot sun. No way can the col be closed! Maybe it was when it snowed but since then for sure the snow on the road’s melted. Definitely won’t be any snow on the other side; that’s the sunny side. Get to the col and I’m home free.
Good climb away from the valley floor, steady grades, a working man’s kind of climb. Beautiful views. This basin always makes me think of Colorado. Not sure why. Lack of glaciers for one thing I suppose. Also the mountains are softer, rounder than the vertical rock and ice typical of much of the Alps. I like it here, a comfortable alpine basin. But not that alpine because I see a few fields tilled for planting. No idea what they’ll be planting. This side of the basin is almost treeless, probably combination of orientation and a long history of cows and sheep. There’s a herd of sheep above the road to the right with a couple of huge, white dogs protecting them. I’m glad they’re fenced in because the dogs are racing along parallel to me letting me know in no uncertain terms that my presence isn’t appreciated.
The Dévoluy basin is wide, at a wild guess maybe 15 K at the widest point. And all of it draining down through the Défilé de la Souloise. The ring of summits around the basin are relatively low, 2000-2300 meter range with apparently trails on the ridge crests linking summits. Have to be some huge views from up there. There’s a small (by french standards) ski area in the basin on the north-facing slopes. Doesn’t look like one I’d be too excited to check out if I was still skiing.
Grade eases off, road goes into a slow curve over a low, round ridge and into the shallow valley heading to the col. Also into a sharp, strong wind funneling over the col and down the valley. Slight downhill but with the wind in my face, not even close to my biggest gear. Finally see the col, the road looking rather white. I press on, maybe just a shallow layer easy to ride through. Nope, definitely closed, the road under a thick coat of snow except for where four-wheel drives have driven through. No luck there either because all they did was transform the snow into ice. Damn! Looks like it’s go to Plan B.
The return down from the col is fast with that hard wind on my back. Over the crest of the hill and into the drop back to the valley and instantly no more wind. Stop, soak up the sun, eat my sandwich, enjoy where I am. Where I am is perfect. I sit, empty, looking , listening to the wind rushing over the ridge above, watching a hawk or maybe an eagle floating. Enough, time to go. A speed run down into the valley, down through Saint Etienne, down through the small gorge and over the bridge and onto the road to Col de Festre. Turns out much longer than I imagined, mostly cruiser climbing through lazy curves with constant views. And still no cars. Amazing. Maybe the world ran out of gas. Keep staring out across the basin at the slopes above the road I came up, the road from Saint Disdier. There’s a line angling across the slopes up into a shallow valley and then what looks like another line angling down out of that valley and across towards Saint Etienne. Has to be a road, a chemin, a road of rocks, dirt, and gravel, looks interesting.
Arrive at the Col de Rioupes. Didn’t remember there was a col before Festre. Not really a col actually, just the crest of the ridge in the middle of the basin. Don’t stay long on the col, wind and cooler temperatures encouraging me to keep moving. Hit the grade down into the valley where somewhere I’m going to hit a junction with the road to the Col de Festre and the road down the valley to Saint Disdier. Should have been a fast drop on what felt like a good grade but as soon as I left the col and a screen of trees I got hammered by a howling wind. Looked like a big front was moving up out of the south. A wall of clouds was stacked up against the south side of the mountains, looked like some giant wave about to crest and crash down. The gap in the ridge that’s the Col de Festre concentrated that mass of air, accelerating it through the funnel. The col wasn’t far from the junction but I didn’t need to fight my way through the wind to get to it.
Soon as I headed down the valley, it was as if the valley floor ducked under the wind. Or maybe the air just spread out so much that it lost all its enthusiasm for racing north and transformed itself into a caressing breeze on my back. The ride down that valley to Saint Disdier was absolutely marvelous. A downhill, but barely, 7,5 K averaging about 3%, and even that’s deceiving since the beginning and end are steeper. A glorious, sustained speed romp in my biggest gear. A stronger rider would have been groaning about not having a 53/11 through there but my legs were perfectly content spinning a 50/12. And still no cars! Actually I’d seen a couple near the Col de Rioupes and heard a tractor working in a field somewhere but other than that I was back being the last human standing. Kept riding by small roads heading off up the slopes to the sides to hamlets and farms scattered over the fields and every one of them looked well worth exploring. If it wasn’t quite so far away, couple hours by each way, I think I’d be spending a lot of time here rolling around.
Got to Saint Disdier, turned left, down into the Défilé de la Souloise, more speed run, past the junction with the road I’d originally thought I’d be riding back on, up the grade into the forest, hit the top, moved onto the big ring. Sweet riding, the road swinging back and forth, spinning my biggest gear, out onto the plateau where I’d parked. A subtle downhill with a light wind on my back, a lazy man’s finish to a fine ride. Wasn’t the loop I’d had in mind but I wasn’t complaining at all. Plan B turned out to be a corker of a ride.
Some pics
Checked on the net, Noyer was open. For once got an early start. But not too early. Morning’s are cold, up in the Trièves could be some ice on the roads in the morning. Took the autoroute out of Grenoble to the Col de Fau above Monestier-de-Clermont, the autoroute that ran out of gas, the highway equivalent of a dangling participle, full of promise and high expectations but never clearly tied to anything. Climbs up the valley out of Grenoble to a low col overlooking the Trièves where it ends. My guess a permanent state of affairs. Makes getting to the edge of the Trièves fast and easy. Then a narrow, twisting line of a road working its way down into a tight gorge and a bridge then up the other side and on to Mens. A road for bikes but not this time. Into the village of Mens, kind of like traveling back into medieval times and discovering your credit card still works. Lots of parked cars, thought there’d be a market in full swing but no, just Saturday morning.
Drove for another half hour or so, over the Col de Saint Sébastion and out and around on one of the finest roads for bikes in the region. I could hear my bike ragging at me in rather harsh words about being a lazy sob and not letting him out of the car to roll over this magnificent road. I was in total agreement with the bike but my legs were screaming at me even more harshly not to stop the damn car and to keep on driving. My legs won.
Arrived on the plateau with the two towering wind generators turning ever so slowly in a light wind. Down through the almost-village of Pellafol and parked on a point overlooking Lake Sautet, a reservoir for generating electricity. A strong current of cold air was flowing down out of the Défilé de la Souloise, the narrow gorge I’d ride up through on the way to Noyer. Rolled off, my bike finally content, my legs grudgingly content. Long straight to kick the festivities off, easy spinning. Would have been fast spinning but for that river of air coming down out of the canyon, right in my face. Up ahead the left side of the gorge was lost in black shadows while the right side was exploding in color. Most of the color was coming from swaths of mélèze, a sort of connifer whose needles turn orange in the autumn then fall to the ground. Tall, straight trees that can live for hundreds of years. I’d thought the colors would be finished but instead I was riding into a gorgeous display of yellows and oranges against a backdrop of snow-capped mountains.
The valley pinched in just before the gorge, the road contouring across steep slopes in a series of sweeping turns. Big gear spinning, carrying speed, flying through a forest of pines, accelerating down a light grade into a hard left and past a junction with the road that I’d ride back on after crossing the col. Over the river crashing down out of the defile, a long turn to the right and I start my steady march up the cogs. I glance up to the right and have to stop, pull out the camera, shoot. Scattered splashes of orange glowing out of a forest of deep green on slopes soaring up to rock cliffs layered with snow and finally a field of brilliant white on a summit still higher yet.
The defile is short, the valley opening up as I approach the village of Saint Disdier. High up to the left the spire of a church stabbing into a blue sky, behind in the background a wall of cliffs and snow towering over the valley. Spot a sign and an arrow for a road that climbs to the church up above, called the ‘mère église’, translated means mother church but apparently the ancient origin of the name is unknown and mère may in fact not mean mother. The chapel dates from the 11th or 12th centuries and was designated a historic monument back in 1927. Currently in a slow process of restoration done by an association of volunteers.
Out of Saint Disdier and past a junction, to the right the road to Col du Festre and on to the town of Veynes. Drove that road long ago but never ridden it. Memory of it is a bit vague but as I recall a potentially interesting road, just don’t see it falling into any loop I’d want to do. I ride through the junction with barely a glance at the road to Festre and into a long cruiser section, low single-digit grades almost all the way except for one short piece where the road flips through a switchback and up a moderately steep grade then around a long, lazy curve to the right where I hit the steepest ramp so far. Doesn’t last which is fine by me. Sweet riding, effort needed but the demand is low key. The steep bit popped me out of a dark forest and into a long run over a round, soft plateau on grades that weren’t far off flat. After awhile I notice I’ve moved down the cogs and up onto the big ring and am flat high-balling down the road. The whole time I’m sitting up and looking around across fields curving down to the river then up the other side to a long, high, rugged ridge of rock summits gleaming under a layer of snow. The snow had fallen pretty low; I’d ridden by pockets of it on the northern exposures in the shade. I’d also ridden past a sign back in Saint Disdier announcing that the Col du Noyer was closed, which I ignored. Figured it was a seasonal closure based on the date rather than on snow. Those pockets of snow in the shade along the road started me worrying that maybe it really was closed. Up ahead I could see the slopes around Saint Etienne, the village just before the climb to Noyer kicks in, were looking disappointingly white, especially the northern exposures. Started thinking I might need a Plan B if the col really was closed.
A little further on I hit the potential Plan B, a junction with a road angling across over the hills in the middle of the huge basin. Links to the Col de Festre. Just past the junction there’s a bridge over a narrow gorge carved out by the river coming down from Saint Etienne. Stopped on the bridge to look down into a slot canyon deep inside the bedrock. So dark inside couldn’t see the bottom. Back on the bike, heading to Saint Etienne, up through some swingers carved out of a cliff, and I’m there. A ghost town. Everything’s closed, not a sign of life. Hadn’t seen a car on the road in a long time either. Started to feel like I was maybe the last person on earth. Strange sensation. I mean the place was deserted. We’re talking total off-season here.
Get to the turn for the col and another sign saying the col’s closed. There’s snow not all that far above me. Meanwhile I’m sweating under a hot sun. No way can the col be closed! Maybe it was when it snowed but since then for sure the snow on the road’s melted. Definitely won’t be any snow on the other side; that’s the sunny side. Get to the col and I’m home free.
Good climb away from the valley floor, steady grades, a working man’s kind of climb. Beautiful views. This basin always makes me think of Colorado. Not sure why. Lack of glaciers for one thing I suppose. Also the mountains are softer, rounder than the vertical rock and ice typical of much of the Alps. I like it here, a comfortable alpine basin. But not that alpine because I see a few fields tilled for planting. No idea what they’ll be planting. This side of the basin is almost treeless, probably combination of orientation and a long history of cows and sheep. There’s a herd of sheep above the road to the right with a couple of huge, white dogs protecting them. I’m glad they’re fenced in because the dogs are racing along parallel to me letting me know in no uncertain terms that my presence isn’t appreciated.
The Dévoluy basin is wide, at a wild guess maybe 15 K at the widest point. And all of it draining down through the Défilé de la Souloise. The ring of summits around the basin are relatively low, 2000-2300 meter range with apparently trails on the ridge crests linking summits. Have to be some huge views from up there. There’s a small (by french standards) ski area in the basin on the north-facing slopes. Doesn’t look like one I’d be too excited to check out if I was still skiing.
Grade eases off, road goes into a slow curve over a low, round ridge and into the shallow valley heading to the col. Also into a sharp, strong wind funneling over the col and down the valley. Slight downhill but with the wind in my face, not even close to my biggest gear. Finally see the col, the road looking rather white. I press on, maybe just a shallow layer easy to ride through. Nope, definitely closed, the road under a thick coat of snow except for where four-wheel drives have driven through. No luck there either because all they did was transform the snow into ice. Damn! Looks like it’s go to Plan B.
The return down from the col is fast with that hard wind on my back. Over the crest of the hill and into the drop back to the valley and instantly no more wind. Stop, soak up the sun, eat my sandwich, enjoy where I am. Where I am is perfect. I sit, empty, looking , listening to the wind rushing over the ridge above, watching a hawk or maybe an eagle floating. Enough, time to go. A speed run down into the valley, down through Saint Etienne, down through the small gorge and over the bridge and onto the road to Col de Festre. Turns out much longer than I imagined, mostly cruiser climbing through lazy curves with constant views. And still no cars. Amazing. Maybe the world ran out of gas. Keep staring out across the basin at the slopes above the road I came up, the road from Saint Disdier. There’s a line angling across the slopes up into a shallow valley and then what looks like another line angling down out of that valley and across towards Saint Etienne. Has to be a road, a chemin, a road of rocks, dirt, and gravel, looks interesting.
Arrive at the Col de Rioupes. Didn’t remember there was a col before Festre. Not really a col actually, just the crest of the ridge in the middle of the basin. Don’t stay long on the col, wind and cooler temperatures encouraging me to keep moving. Hit the grade down into the valley where somewhere I’m going to hit a junction with the road to the Col de Festre and the road down the valley to Saint Disdier. Should have been a fast drop on what felt like a good grade but as soon as I left the col and a screen of trees I got hammered by a howling wind. Looked like a big front was moving up out of the south. A wall of clouds was stacked up against the south side of the mountains, looked like some giant wave about to crest and crash down. The gap in the ridge that’s the Col de Festre concentrated that mass of air, accelerating it through the funnel. The col wasn’t far from the junction but I didn’t need to fight my way through the wind to get to it.
Soon as I headed down the valley, it was as if the valley floor ducked under the wind. Or maybe the air just spread out so much that it lost all its enthusiasm for racing north and transformed itself into a caressing breeze on my back. The ride down that valley to Saint Disdier was absolutely marvelous. A downhill, but barely, 7,5 K averaging about 3%, and even that’s deceiving since the beginning and end are steeper. A glorious, sustained speed romp in my biggest gear. A stronger rider would have been groaning about not having a 53/11 through there but my legs were perfectly content spinning a 50/12. And still no cars! Actually I’d seen a couple near the Col de Rioupes and heard a tractor working in a field somewhere but other than that I was back being the last human standing. Kept riding by small roads heading off up the slopes to the sides to hamlets and farms scattered over the fields and every one of them looked well worth exploring. If it wasn’t quite so far away, couple hours by each way, I think I’d be spending a lot of time here rolling around.
Got to Saint Disdier, turned left, down into the Défilé de la Souloise, more speed run, past the junction with the road I’d originally thought I’d be riding back on, up the grade into the forest, hit the top, moved onto the big ring. Sweet riding, the road swinging back and forth, spinning my biggest gear, out onto the plateau where I’d parked. A subtle downhill with a light wind on my back, a lazy man’s finish to a fine ride. Wasn’t the loop I’d had in mind but I wasn’t complaining at all. Plan B turned out to be a corker of a ride.
Some pics