velotel
12-08-2015, 08:29 AM
December, late afternoon, sun gliding toward the horizon, light slanting in low and smacking the hillside with waves of color while an incoming tide of cold shadows flow up out of the valley and there I am shooting hoops in the vineyards. Actually I was on a bike and there wasn't a ball or a court anywhere in the vicinity but that's what it felt like. One of those slow evenings for shooting hoops, just me, the ball, the basket. A couple of bounces, reach up, launch the ball in a lazy arc, waiting for the soft swish when it drops clean through the net, the rim untouched. Trot in, catch the ball on the bounce, dribble back outside, pause to watch a flock of birds sweep into a wave of movement, couple more bounces, rise up, launch again. Hanging out in the evening light, feeling the touch, catching the rhythm. That was me Saturday evening on my bike in some vineyards in Savoie, a place I like to ride when I'm feeling lazy and the day's late.
Didn't have any hard plan, kind of a rough idea of one but in the end just rode the flow. Parked next to a small lake where there's a good restaurant for lunch. Super popular with the vintners in the area so there's an impressive wall of wines behind the bar. Closed when I got there which was fine since that definitely wasn't on the program. Headed off thinking I'd cross the valley to another small lake then make a long loop back. So I wandered on small roads, hitting junctions and taking whatever road looked like it might go where I wanted to go. None of the roads seemed to be heading where I wanted so finally I just went where I was.
Hit a main road, glanced left, saw a gravel/dirt road angling up through some trees. Took that to find out where it went. Into vineyards, vineyards I knew but not from here. Farm track, gravel and hard-packed dirt, long traverse across slopes covered with rows and rows of grapes, up a slight hill and past the ruin of a house or barn or something. Down a hill, low angle but fast, the bike hopping around, stones popping off the tires, shooting into the distance, once in awhile one would ping off a tube. Soaring into the sky behind me are the Alps coated with snow. Even after over twenty years of living here I'm still amazed to see vineyards growing at the foot of the Alps. Always seems a contradiction but there they are.
Left the car feeling tired and lazy but now I'm feeling good, dialed, carving through turns, hitting short ramps and turning up the power. Sweet riding. Road dives into a collection of houses and barns, squeezes through between rock walls, into a sharp, blind turn and up. Oops, double-digit ramp and I'm in way too small a cog. No time to shift, just muscle through, legs pushing, arms pulling, and I'm up and through and back in cruise mode. Lots of short, brutal ramps in these vineyards, toll booths, payment extracted for all the fun I'm having.
Rolling fast into intersections, unmarked, no stopping, choose a direction, go. Works sometimes, sometimes not. When it doesn't, I double back, or go a different direction. Doesnç¨ matter. Pavement flows into gravel, gravel evolves into concrete, then gravel again, and back to the asphalt. Up on a hill overlooking the valley floor following some rough track of old asphalt. No idea where this is going though I suspect it'll a dead-end. Past half a dozen or so young people trimming grapevines, couple tables covered with glasses, bottles of wine, chunks of cheese, sausage, bread. If they asked I'd stop but they're all busy.
Looks like I was right, a dead end, this one ending at the gate to a small chateau. Not really a chateau, just a tall, square tower with a round turret and a fine looking house next to the gate. Steepish slope to the right covered with more grapevines. See the heads and torsos of some people walking up the hill, maybe there's another track I can follow instead of turning around. Yep, paved too. Looks steep up high. Jump on the biggest cog, head up. Hard, but less than I imagined, or maybe I'm having one of those good moments. Straining muscles past lines of grapevines all neatly trimmed, most with only two branches remaining, some with only one. They remind of the dancers at Crazy Horse, or how I imagine the dancers are since I've never been there, legs kicked out as high their heads, arms reaching to the next in line. And there I am rolling by on a bike! I don't know if the horse is crazy or not but the world definitely is.
Went like that for maybe two hours. Goofing off in the vineyards of Savoie. Rode by so many wine makers that if I ever wanted to ride and do some wine tasting, I'd never make it far. Wines from Savoie used to be looked down on by wine snobs, nothing but mediocre whites at best they'd say. That's shifting, climate change, which is of course nothing but a figment of a rich imagination pushed by a socialist/communist agenda to destroy capitalism. Meanwhile more heat in Savoie means grapes higher in sugar, or something like that. Anyway Savoie wines have been getting better and better, especially the reds. Definitely good for the wine capitalists in Savoie.
But I wasn't there for the wine, just shooting hoops until the sun was lost behind Mont Granier and the Col du Granier. Time to head back, light fading fast. Hammered hard through the dusk, across the valley, over the railroad, over the autoroute, through fields and small sub-divisions, slice through a small forest and past a glassed pond, and all of a sudden I'm back at the car. Nothing but bliss, shooting hoops in the vineyards. Maybe that should be the title of my next book on cycling in the Alps. Forget Vol II, the follow-up to Switchbacks, Vol I, time to do shooting hoops in the Alps. Except no one would understand.
And don't forget, if you'ree looking for a fine present for Christmas, go to velodogs-publishing.com, order Switchbacks, Vol I.
Didn't have any hard plan, kind of a rough idea of one but in the end just rode the flow. Parked next to a small lake where there's a good restaurant for lunch. Super popular with the vintners in the area so there's an impressive wall of wines behind the bar. Closed when I got there which was fine since that definitely wasn't on the program. Headed off thinking I'd cross the valley to another small lake then make a long loop back. So I wandered on small roads, hitting junctions and taking whatever road looked like it might go where I wanted to go. None of the roads seemed to be heading where I wanted so finally I just went where I was.
Hit a main road, glanced left, saw a gravel/dirt road angling up through some trees. Took that to find out where it went. Into vineyards, vineyards I knew but not from here. Farm track, gravel and hard-packed dirt, long traverse across slopes covered with rows and rows of grapes, up a slight hill and past the ruin of a house or barn or something. Down a hill, low angle but fast, the bike hopping around, stones popping off the tires, shooting into the distance, once in awhile one would ping off a tube. Soaring into the sky behind me are the Alps coated with snow. Even after over twenty years of living here I'm still amazed to see vineyards growing at the foot of the Alps. Always seems a contradiction but there they are.
Left the car feeling tired and lazy but now I'm feeling good, dialed, carving through turns, hitting short ramps and turning up the power. Sweet riding. Road dives into a collection of houses and barns, squeezes through between rock walls, into a sharp, blind turn and up. Oops, double-digit ramp and I'm in way too small a cog. No time to shift, just muscle through, legs pushing, arms pulling, and I'm up and through and back in cruise mode. Lots of short, brutal ramps in these vineyards, toll booths, payment extracted for all the fun I'm having.
Rolling fast into intersections, unmarked, no stopping, choose a direction, go. Works sometimes, sometimes not. When it doesn't, I double back, or go a different direction. Doesnç¨ matter. Pavement flows into gravel, gravel evolves into concrete, then gravel again, and back to the asphalt. Up on a hill overlooking the valley floor following some rough track of old asphalt. No idea where this is going though I suspect it'll a dead-end. Past half a dozen or so young people trimming grapevines, couple tables covered with glasses, bottles of wine, chunks of cheese, sausage, bread. If they asked I'd stop but they're all busy.
Looks like I was right, a dead end, this one ending at the gate to a small chateau. Not really a chateau, just a tall, square tower with a round turret and a fine looking house next to the gate. Steepish slope to the right covered with more grapevines. See the heads and torsos of some people walking up the hill, maybe there's another track I can follow instead of turning around. Yep, paved too. Looks steep up high. Jump on the biggest cog, head up. Hard, but less than I imagined, or maybe I'm having one of those good moments. Straining muscles past lines of grapevines all neatly trimmed, most with only two branches remaining, some with only one. They remind of the dancers at Crazy Horse, or how I imagine the dancers are since I've never been there, legs kicked out as high their heads, arms reaching to the next in line. And there I am rolling by on a bike! I don't know if the horse is crazy or not but the world definitely is.
Went like that for maybe two hours. Goofing off in the vineyards of Savoie. Rode by so many wine makers that if I ever wanted to ride and do some wine tasting, I'd never make it far. Wines from Savoie used to be looked down on by wine snobs, nothing but mediocre whites at best they'd say. That's shifting, climate change, which is of course nothing but a figment of a rich imagination pushed by a socialist/communist agenda to destroy capitalism. Meanwhile more heat in Savoie means grapes higher in sugar, or something like that. Anyway Savoie wines have been getting better and better, especially the reds. Definitely good for the wine capitalists in Savoie.
But I wasn't there for the wine, just shooting hoops until the sun was lost behind Mont Granier and the Col du Granier. Time to head back, light fading fast. Hammered hard through the dusk, across the valley, over the railroad, over the autoroute, through fields and small sub-divisions, slice through a small forest and past a glassed pond, and all of a sudden I'm back at the car. Nothing but bliss, shooting hoops in the vineyards. Maybe that should be the title of my next book on cycling in the Alps. Forget Vol II, the follow-up to Switchbacks, Vol I, time to do shooting hoops in the Alps. Except no one would understand.
And don't forget, if you'ree looking for a fine present for Christmas, go to velodogs-publishing.com, order Switchbacks, Vol I.