velotel
07-23-2016, 03:06 AM
Another post of photos you may not want to look at. Not because I’m some great photographer, because of what I was shooting. I mean a blind turnip could have been behind the camera and the results would have been at minimum verging on wonderful.
I’d probably driven over the Col du Mont Cenis 50-60 times over the past 20-plus years. Maybe more. On the way to Italy and back. Always over the col instead of through the tunnel except in the winter. A beautiful road with views I never tire of. We like stopping at a small restaurant overlooking the reservoir. A comfortable place. Across the lake I could see this valley in the distance with what appeared to be a small road climbing up into it. Kept thinking I need to ride that someday.
Turns out there’s a named col over there, Col du Petit Mont Cenis, and rather amazingly the road is paved all the way. Discovered that on Sunday. First I rode the Col du Mont Cenis, which I’d never ridden, and just after the col turned onto this narrow strip of blacktop, the road to the Petit Mont Cenis. Petit as in small. No idea why the name since it’s higher than the Mont Cenis.
The climb to Mont Cenis was good, nothing exceptional. One aspect I rather liked, relatively easy grades. As in 6%, 7%, some 8%, a bit of 9%, then more 6% to the top. Spinning up the mountain a few cogs down from my usual 27-cog was a treat. I could get used to that. Wide road, good pavement, a highway in other words, which as a rule isn’t what I search out. Found that on the road to Petit Mont Cenis.
Absolutely my kind of road. A one-laner, scattered wide spots for cars to pass, rustic pavement, no paint, no guard rails, no signs for turns, just a narrow, nervous strip of asphalt twisting into a high alpine valley. Perfect. What was less than perfect, and totally unexpected, were all the people. Not cyclists, not mountain bikers, only a few hikers, what they were were couch potatoes, but without the couches and tele’s. Lawn chairs, folding lounge chairs, blankets, and barbeques. Mostly italians, based on at a guesstimate of 90% of the cars wearing italian plates. Escaping the heat with family picnics in the mountains. Definitely the temps were lower and the views better but to be honest, I just couldn’t wrap my head around the idea of spending the day eating and drinking in the midst of these mountains instead of doing something physical. Like riding a bike. Given all the generous expanses of soft flesh I saw, looks like a lot of them could do with a touch more exercise than swinging a fork to the mouth. Oh well, strokes and folks and all that.
The road was pure delight. Sometimes easy, sometimes downright rude with ramps slapping me alongside the head. Then back to easy. Straight was a foreign concept. A farm track wending its way over the terrain, mostly following the path of least resistance as long as the general direction worked. Then someone decided to pave it. As is. Oh maybe run a blade over it to make it easier to lay the asphalt, or maybe not. This was not a road where the engineers were called up for their expertise. Thankfully.
I’m following it with no idea where it was going, other than to some Col du Petit Mont Cenis where according to various small signs I saw along the way there’s a refuge/restaurant. Never did see anything defining a place as the col. Definitely wasn’t the refuge using the col’s name since it was in a meadow not even close to anything that could reasonably be called a col. The refuge was off to the left beyond a parking area but the strip of black I was on kept on going up this broad valley between high summits so I did too. Fields of wildflowers, fields of grasses, easy rolling, always up but now lazy up under a brilliant sun.
Just like that it ended, the asphalt, at another refuge/restaurant with lots of parked cars and people lounging around tables of food and drinks. And the road kept going, but now dirt, then it turned and started to climb and I’m on a jeep road. Dirt, bedrock, gravel, sand, mostly two tracks with a round ridge of grass dividing them. One look and my eyes lit up. Yes! Mountain biking on my road bike. The skills, the line picking, dancing on the edge between power and traction, the arms working as much as the legs, the eyes leading the way, it all came back like no time had passed. I was loving it.
Don’t get me wrong, this wasn’t some gnarly, hardcore mountain bike track. I mean my low gear was a 34/27, the tires 700x28, and this road never strayed beyond their limits. Lots of sections had me maxed out, riding that wave of mental momentum up through places I wasn’t sure I’d be able to clean, riding in a low crouch, my butt floating over the nose of the saddle, my arms pulling back for traction, weight forward for steering, hands in the drops, powering through, my eyes and mind leading me through. Felt so good! For me there’s completeness in climbing like that I’ve never found on the pavement. If I can’t climb a paved road it’s only because my gearing isn’t low enough for my strength, has nothing to do with technical skills. Not like on the dirt and rocks where traction is tenuous, the line you follow the key to getting up, the constant shifting of weight between front and back in the search for control and precision. This road had all that in just the right dosage for my tires and gearing and I was loving it something fierce.
Didn’t hurt that this was all happening in a magnificent alpine setting of islands of granite bedrock surrounded by grasses and wildflowers and rock summits soaring into this cloudless expanse of deep blue. It was just plain crazy gorgeous. And I’d finally figured out where I was, sort of. Beyond that last refuge/restaurant where the road transformed into its primitive self is a deep valley. When I got higher I could see what looked like a ski area in the distance. I’m looking at that and wondering where in the hell am I. Do a sort of mental projection into the sky and look down, see where I came from, where the Col du Mont Cenis is and the valley on the other side, the italian side, that drops down to Susa, think about the Tunnel de Fréjus from Modane under the mountains into Italy, the tunnel the trucks take to avoid the col, and all of a sudden I see it. I’m looking at Bardonecchia in Italy! I’ll be go to hell. Never imagined I’d be up here looking down into that valley. But there it is. Which probably means the beep my telephone sounded that I ignored was my server telling me I was in Italy. Cool.
Between the hard sections of max effort was easy rolling on this magnificent double-track. Way more of that than steep climbing in fact. Fantastic. And the track kept on going. And getting more primitive. Looked like it was heading to a ridgeline in the distance from which I was sure there was a grand view. A major temptation. Only I’d spent so much time lounging on this roll of granite bedrock, absorbing, listening, eating, drinking, that I was running out of time. I also hadn’t bothered bringing along my spare tire, a used Veloflex folded up tight. Prudence was telling me loud and clear maybe I ought to leave it for another day. I’ve never gashed a tire riding these roads but if it did happen out there, I’d be in a one very leaky boat without a bucket. So, back I went.
Oh man, what can I say. We’re talking massive fun. Fast, light, and agile over the dirt then onto the asphalt and speed city. I mean this road going down is a ripper. And somewhat miraculously there were hardly any cars to deal with, and those all saw me coming and immediately pulled to the side as best they could and let me blow by. Never done so much bunny hopping in my life, at speed. The road’s got all these metal rain gutters angled across for when it rains. And not flush with the asphalt. It was either slow way down or come in fast and hop ‘em. I hopped ‘em. Sweet, especially when I hit the hop just right.
The climb back up to the road to Mont Cenis was a bit brutal and slow but what the hell, everything has a price. Got to the top and instead of turning left and heading to the col and then back down, I went right, down to the small restaurant where my wife and I stop. Beer time and a photo of where I’d been. Perfect. Then over the Col du Mont Cenis and down to Lanslebourg, a fun, fast but easy plunge. Just hold on and go. Into Lanslebourg and down the valley to where I’d left my wheels. Bike in the back, change clothes, settle in for two hours of cruising, thinking about where I’d just been.
Is this a have-to ride? Hard to say. Col du Mont Cenis, no, a good ride but not one that has to be done, not from the french side, probably from the italian side but I’ve not done that yet so can’t say. The road to Petit Mont Cenis is another story. It’s awesome, in both directions, even if you stop at the end of the blackness. It just isn’t very long, only 7,5 K, 210 meters (690 ft) of up. But if you keep going, it’s icing on the cake, a thick, rich icing that’s hard to get enough of. But again not so long, at least to where I turned around, 2,5 K, 90 meters (300 ft) of up. Going to the ridgeline in the distance I think will double or more those figures. I need to do that. Which I’ll do, but with my new bike and it’s 29-cog and fatter tires. Maybe in the fall when the colors are exploding. That section to the ridgeline could push this puppy up into that elite crowd at the top of my best of the best list.
Some pics, and as usual they’re in order, as in from the beginning to the end. Cheers
I’d probably driven over the Col du Mont Cenis 50-60 times over the past 20-plus years. Maybe more. On the way to Italy and back. Always over the col instead of through the tunnel except in the winter. A beautiful road with views I never tire of. We like stopping at a small restaurant overlooking the reservoir. A comfortable place. Across the lake I could see this valley in the distance with what appeared to be a small road climbing up into it. Kept thinking I need to ride that someday.
Turns out there’s a named col over there, Col du Petit Mont Cenis, and rather amazingly the road is paved all the way. Discovered that on Sunday. First I rode the Col du Mont Cenis, which I’d never ridden, and just after the col turned onto this narrow strip of blacktop, the road to the Petit Mont Cenis. Petit as in small. No idea why the name since it’s higher than the Mont Cenis.
The climb to Mont Cenis was good, nothing exceptional. One aspect I rather liked, relatively easy grades. As in 6%, 7%, some 8%, a bit of 9%, then more 6% to the top. Spinning up the mountain a few cogs down from my usual 27-cog was a treat. I could get used to that. Wide road, good pavement, a highway in other words, which as a rule isn’t what I search out. Found that on the road to Petit Mont Cenis.
Absolutely my kind of road. A one-laner, scattered wide spots for cars to pass, rustic pavement, no paint, no guard rails, no signs for turns, just a narrow, nervous strip of asphalt twisting into a high alpine valley. Perfect. What was less than perfect, and totally unexpected, were all the people. Not cyclists, not mountain bikers, only a few hikers, what they were were couch potatoes, but without the couches and tele’s. Lawn chairs, folding lounge chairs, blankets, and barbeques. Mostly italians, based on at a guesstimate of 90% of the cars wearing italian plates. Escaping the heat with family picnics in the mountains. Definitely the temps were lower and the views better but to be honest, I just couldn’t wrap my head around the idea of spending the day eating and drinking in the midst of these mountains instead of doing something physical. Like riding a bike. Given all the generous expanses of soft flesh I saw, looks like a lot of them could do with a touch more exercise than swinging a fork to the mouth. Oh well, strokes and folks and all that.
The road was pure delight. Sometimes easy, sometimes downright rude with ramps slapping me alongside the head. Then back to easy. Straight was a foreign concept. A farm track wending its way over the terrain, mostly following the path of least resistance as long as the general direction worked. Then someone decided to pave it. As is. Oh maybe run a blade over it to make it easier to lay the asphalt, or maybe not. This was not a road where the engineers were called up for their expertise. Thankfully.
I’m following it with no idea where it was going, other than to some Col du Petit Mont Cenis where according to various small signs I saw along the way there’s a refuge/restaurant. Never did see anything defining a place as the col. Definitely wasn’t the refuge using the col’s name since it was in a meadow not even close to anything that could reasonably be called a col. The refuge was off to the left beyond a parking area but the strip of black I was on kept on going up this broad valley between high summits so I did too. Fields of wildflowers, fields of grasses, easy rolling, always up but now lazy up under a brilliant sun.
Just like that it ended, the asphalt, at another refuge/restaurant with lots of parked cars and people lounging around tables of food and drinks. And the road kept going, but now dirt, then it turned and started to climb and I’m on a jeep road. Dirt, bedrock, gravel, sand, mostly two tracks with a round ridge of grass dividing them. One look and my eyes lit up. Yes! Mountain biking on my road bike. The skills, the line picking, dancing on the edge between power and traction, the arms working as much as the legs, the eyes leading the way, it all came back like no time had passed. I was loving it.
Don’t get me wrong, this wasn’t some gnarly, hardcore mountain bike track. I mean my low gear was a 34/27, the tires 700x28, and this road never strayed beyond their limits. Lots of sections had me maxed out, riding that wave of mental momentum up through places I wasn’t sure I’d be able to clean, riding in a low crouch, my butt floating over the nose of the saddle, my arms pulling back for traction, weight forward for steering, hands in the drops, powering through, my eyes and mind leading me through. Felt so good! For me there’s completeness in climbing like that I’ve never found on the pavement. If I can’t climb a paved road it’s only because my gearing isn’t low enough for my strength, has nothing to do with technical skills. Not like on the dirt and rocks where traction is tenuous, the line you follow the key to getting up, the constant shifting of weight between front and back in the search for control and precision. This road had all that in just the right dosage for my tires and gearing and I was loving it something fierce.
Didn’t hurt that this was all happening in a magnificent alpine setting of islands of granite bedrock surrounded by grasses and wildflowers and rock summits soaring into this cloudless expanse of deep blue. It was just plain crazy gorgeous. And I’d finally figured out where I was, sort of. Beyond that last refuge/restaurant where the road transformed into its primitive self is a deep valley. When I got higher I could see what looked like a ski area in the distance. I’m looking at that and wondering where in the hell am I. Do a sort of mental projection into the sky and look down, see where I came from, where the Col du Mont Cenis is and the valley on the other side, the italian side, that drops down to Susa, think about the Tunnel de Fréjus from Modane under the mountains into Italy, the tunnel the trucks take to avoid the col, and all of a sudden I see it. I’m looking at Bardonecchia in Italy! I’ll be go to hell. Never imagined I’d be up here looking down into that valley. But there it is. Which probably means the beep my telephone sounded that I ignored was my server telling me I was in Italy. Cool.
Between the hard sections of max effort was easy rolling on this magnificent double-track. Way more of that than steep climbing in fact. Fantastic. And the track kept on going. And getting more primitive. Looked like it was heading to a ridgeline in the distance from which I was sure there was a grand view. A major temptation. Only I’d spent so much time lounging on this roll of granite bedrock, absorbing, listening, eating, drinking, that I was running out of time. I also hadn’t bothered bringing along my spare tire, a used Veloflex folded up tight. Prudence was telling me loud and clear maybe I ought to leave it for another day. I’ve never gashed a tire riding these roads but if it did happen out there, I’d be in a one very leaky boat without a bucket. So, back I went.
Oh man, what can I say. We’re talking massive fun. Fast, light, and agile over the dirt then onto the asphalt and speed city. I mean this road going down is a ripper. And somewhat miraculously there were hardly any cars to deal with, and those all saw me coming and immediately pulled to the side as best they could and let me blow by. Never done so much bunny hopping in my life, at speed. The road’s got all these metal rain gutters angled across for when it rains. And not flush with the asphalt. It was either slow way down or come in fast and hop ‘em. I hopped ‘em. Sweet, especially when I hit the hop just right.
The climb back up to the road to Mont Cenis was a bit brutal and slow but what the hell, everything has a price. Got to the top and instead of turning left and heading to the col and then back down, I went right, down to the small restaurant where my wife and I stop. Beer time and a photo of where I’d been. Perfect. Then over the Col du Mont Cenis and down to Lanslebourg, a fun, fast but easy plunge. Just hold on and go. Into Lanslebourg and down the valley to where I’d left my wheels. Bike in the back, change clothes, settle in for two hours of cruising, thinking about where I’d just been.
Is this a have-to ride? Hard to say. Col du Mont Cenis, no, a good ride but not one that has to be done, not from the french side, probably from the italian side but I’ve not done that yet so can’t say. The road to Petit Mont Cenis is another story. It’s awesome, in both directions, even if you stop at the end of the blackness. It just isn’t very long, only 7,5 K, 210 meters (690 ft) of up. But if you keep going, it’s icing on the cake, a thick, rich icing that’s hard to get enough of. But again not so long, at least to where I turned around, 2,5 K, 90 meters (300 ft) of up. Going to the ridgeline in the distance I think will double or more those figures. I need to do that. Which I’ll do, but with my new bike and it’s 29-cog and fatter tires. Maybe in the fall when the colors are exploding. That section to the ridgeline could push this puppy up into that elite crowd at the top of my best of the best list.
Some pics, and as usual they’re in order, as in from the beginning to the end. Cheers