velotel
04-27-2017, 01:27 PM
I’d ridden the Col du Grand Cucheron a few times over the years, from both sides, via paved roads, and knew there was a dirt road to the col because I’d seen it. Tried to find it once, with Max. Didn’t succeed. Had a great time but ended up on the Col de Champ Laurent instead, a few Ks from Grand Cucheron. Pretty crazy really. Followed a dirt road past a sign pointing straight ahead for the Col du Grand Cucheron. Then that ended. Nothing but a steep slope down into forest. And no trail. Shouldered the bikes, hiked down assuming something would work out. Found a trail, rode that, hit a dirt road, followed that, and ended up on Col de Champ Laurent.
Which bugged me. Decided to attack it from a different direction, from the Maurienne Valley on the north side of the Grand Cucheron. That’s what I did Sunday.
Parked a few K from Chamoux-sur-Gelon. Like that the finish would be the insanely good plunge from Champ Laurent which I’d cross after Grand Cucheron. Rode past fields recently disced and planted and waiting for days of heat, direction the town of Aiguebelle in the Maurienne Valley. Turned onto a small road at the base of the hill on the south of the valley. Which becomes a bike path for around 3 K, nicely avoiding Aiguebelle and the scrum of noise and traffic in the valley. The bike path’s tucked-in tight against the mountain and practically tunnels through a thick forest. Ended at a T-junction with D116, a narrow strip of blacktop heading up the mountain. There’s a second road further up the valley that climbs up the same mountain. By the map looks like a good one. Next time.
Arrived in the village of Montgilbert, a place I’d seen like every time I’d drove down the Maurienne Valley. Or at least I saw the church up on the ridge. Always wondered what was up there. Pretty cool looking in the spring with the wall of snow-covered summits in the background behind the church. Until here the road had been a tight two-laner. Now it shifted into a mostly generous one-laner with rustic pavement in fine repair. Steady climbing. Steep but nothing dramatic. Even dropped down a cog from time to time. Never for long. Too comfortable spinning up on the 34/32. Getting lazy in my old age.
Rolling through a thin forest with enough openings that I could kind of see where I was. And how much vertical I still had to go. A lot. The terrain was way steeper than it appeared on the maps. Broke out into a meadow of sunlight and green and saw the roofs of a hamlet deep in a basin under a high ridge and wondered if that was where the road was heading. I’d been thinking the road would continue following the ridge up but no, it went into a long traverse heading straight to that hamlet. The road paved in a blacktop that redefined rustic asphalt. Thick, round gravel barely embedded in tar that created a surface of hard bubbles of rock. Produced quite the sound under my tires. Not sure I’d want to ride it when wet. Lasted for maybe a K.
Into the hamlet, Les Bugnons, a dozen or more homes. Hard to imagine anyone living up here year-round but some of the houses definitely looked like they were. This is where things got interesting. I had a map, an IGN map, 1:25,000 scale, the smallest scale available. Rode through the hamlet and got to a branch with a small sign. Time to look at the map. The name on the sign didn’t exist on the map. Okay, when in doubt follow what looks more used. Went left. And up. Another junction and this time with a name on the sign I recognized and an arrow pointing left. Left went down, right went up. Went right. I hate losing vertical I’ve worked hard to gain. Another junction, another sign, this time with two names I couldn’t find. And both roads dirt. Straight ahead looked more used but there was also a sign saying the road was private and that conditions could be shaky. My interpretation. That’s the way I went.
The good call. A sweetheart of a dirt track, smooth, close to flat, and I’m whipping along having a fine old time and wondering where in the hell this is taking me. I wasn’t worried though. I mean to my left and way below was the Maurienne Valley which meant I was traversing across the mountain and sooner or later I was bound to hit the paved road to the Col du Grand Cucheron, assuming of course that the road didn’t just end and I’d have to backtrack everything.
The road got more primitive and started to drop. That made me slightly nervous. Losing altitude was not what I wanted because I knew damn well I was way below the col. Kept going anyway. Then it flattened then started climbing again. This was in a thick forest and where I couldn’t see anything other than that I was somewhere on the ridge the Col du Grand Cucheron crosses. More flat, road smooth. Went past a sign facing the opposite direction. Stopped to see what it had to say. Same message as on the other end about it being a private road, etc. Good news because that meant this definitely wasn’t a dead end.
Got to a cabin, then a more substantial cabin, then a small cluster of real houses and a bunch of cars in a parking area. The road turned black and started diving down the mountain. And I was way below the col. Damn, looks like I’ve missed the dirt road to the col, again. Okay, follow this road down until it joins the normal road to the col then reclimb all this vertical! A hundred meters later the road does a curl to the left and there’s a forest road heading right and up. And a sign.
I swing onto the dirt, look at the sign, Col du Grand Cucheron with an arrow pointing up the dirt road. At last! Turned out to be more double track with a green center line than a road. Also rocky. And I think steep. Hard to tell because between the loose surface, me feeling tired, and the grade itself, judging the steepness wasn’t real scientific. But it felt steep. Stayed that way, or at least most of the time. There were some flat sections, all short, and even a quick descent, otherwise steady climbing. According to the Garmin data this section was 4 K long, 7% average but I wouldn’t place any bets on elevations from the Garmin.
Damned long ways though. Long enough that there were moments when I was wondering where the hell it was going. Except I knew it had to junction with the road to the col. Had to happen. Finally hit one particularly hard section of loose rocks on a steep grade and beyond could see an even worse section. Groaned out loud at the thought of having to ride up that. Only I didn’t. All of a sudden I popped out onto the road to the col, maybe a 100 meters to the right. Yes! The light was gorgeous, the sun low in the sky, the air clear and sharp. Stopped on the col, shot some pics, drank more water, wished I had some single-malt to celebrate with, put on my jacket, headed down. Into a headwind.
I’d been thinking the wind had died. Nope. I’d just been in the lee and protected by the thick forest. The drop off the col is fast with a 2,5 K or so section that averages over 9%. Makes for some impressive gravity pulls. Only the wind was knocking me around and slowing things down. Short descent, 3 K, maybe a bit more. Then a choice. Turn right and climb 3 K to the Col de Champ Laurent or stay in the valley and ride that all the way down. Down the valley would be theoretically easier but for the damn wind. But hey, we’re only talking 3 K to the col, totally doable. Maybe slowly but I’ll get there. And once there, oh man, party time, the plunge to Chamoux, 800 vertical meters, 9 plus K. Toss out a total of almost 2 K of sections of easy grades and the rest is sustained steep, like eyeball warping steep
Up it is. No choice really. I’ve worked too hard to pass up the party off the col. Up through a wash of golden light, past fields of dandelions transformed into glowing puff balls of white, across fields of that deep green of early spring. And I’m climbing way better than I expected. Even finding it easy, despite the first K supposedly around 10%, but I don’t believe that. I’m entirely too relaxed for that kind of steepness.
Get passed by some guy looking fast while I’m shooting some pics. Surprised to see someone out this late in the day. Then again I am so why not someone else. Hard to beat riding through late day, low angle light. Back on the bike, grade easy, road smooth, views soft on the eyes, across the valley clearly defined against the white mountains in the background the slot on the ridge that’s the Col du Grand Cucheron. Seems far away now, both in time and distance. Like another ride. Spinning up through these lazy, sweeping curves surrounded by a chorus of singing birds. Some finish to the day. Or almost the finish. Soon the plunge.
Arrive on the col carrying some slow speed, feeling good. The rider who passed me is there, drinking, enjoying the views. I stop to drink, put on my jacket, we talk. Asks me where I came from, Start to explain then say I’d probably best just show him on the map. Which I do with his eyes kind of popping out of his head when he realizes how I got to the Grand Cucheron. Then he’s looking at my bike and the fat tires and asking a rash of questions, totally intrigued by the possibilities served up by a fat-tired road bike. Then we’re off, he one way, me into the descent to Chamoux.
There’s no way I can tell it correctly, no way. One of those have to be there, feeling it, guiding it, riding it moments, only the moment went on and on. It was all about letting go, catching this gravity wave, flowing down the mountain, the bike, the tires, me blended into one constantly moving, shifting entity. It was a lot like the crazy dive off the Col de l’Arpettaz five days before, only this time the road surface was clean and constant and I wasn’t half dead from the cold.
I’d forgotten how good this descent is. Pretty much the perfect expression of pure speed on a weaving, diving road barely wide enough for one car. I hadn’t seen a single car in hours so there was this huge temptation to abandon myself to the rush and assume the no-car scenario would play out to the end. But I didn’t. Transforming myself into some hood ornament never has struck me as a stunning idea. Instead I played the edge. Crushing the speed but always with the fingers floating the pads over the rims, from time to time dialing back the speed a wee bit and hoping it was enough if the unexpected arrived. The bike, tires, road, gravity, me so tight I felt like we were this magic carpet ripping down off this mountain past an audienceof silent trees watching our show. I wasn’t searching for the speed, just riding the flow, following my eyes, but for sure whenever possible I’d tuck low and feel the bike accelerate. And every switchback saw me out of the saddle sprinting. But never forcing the issue, just carving down this forested wave of a mountain.
And just like that it was over. Into the village of Chamoux, pulling back the speed, the train of smoking energy tailing out behind flowing back inside, coalescing, gathering. From there back to the car a slow spin, savoring the feelings. What can I say. Just another ride in the Alps. Not bad, not bad at all.
Some pics, and obviously none from the downhill.
Also a link to a fun vid of the ride
https://www.relive.cc/view/955310193
Which bugged me. Decided to attack it from a different direction, from the Maurienne Valley on the north side of the Grand Cucheron. That’s what I did Sunday.
Parked a few K from Chamoux-sur-Gelon. Like that the finish would be the insanely good plunge from Champ Laurent which I’d cross after Grand Cucheron. Rode past fields recently disced and planted and waiting for days of heat, direction the town of Aiguebelle in the Maurienne Valley. Turned onto a small road at the base of the hill on the south of the valley. Which becomes a bike path for around 3 K, nicely avoiding Aiguebelle and the scrum of noise and traffic in the valley. The bike path’s tucked-in tight against the mountain and practically tunnels through a thick forest. Ended at a T-junction with D116, a narrow strip of blacktop heading up the mountain. There’s a second road further up the valley that climbs up the same mountain. By the map looks like a good one. Next time.
Arrived in the village of Montgilbert, a place I’d seen like every time I’d drove down the Maurienne Valley. Or at least I saw the church up on the ridge. Always wondered what was up there. Pretty cool looking in the spring with the wall of snow-covered summits in the background behind the church. Until here the road had been a tight two-laner. Now it shifted into a mostly generous one-laner with rustic pavement in fine repair. Steady climbing. Steep but nothing dramatic. Even dropped down a cog from time to time. Never for long. Too comfortable spinning up on the 34/32. Getting lazy in my old age.
Rolling through a thin forest with enough openings that I could kind of see where I was. And how much vertical I still had to go. A lot. The terrain was way steeper than it appeared on the maps. Broke out into a meadow of sunlight and green and saw the roofs of a hamlet deep in a basin under a high ridge and wondered if that was where the road was heading. I’d been thinking the road would continue following the ridge up but no, it went into a long traverse heading straight to that hamlet. The road paved in a blacktop that redefined rustic asphalt. Thick, round gravel barely embedded in tar that created a surface of hard bubbles of rock. Produced quite the sound under my tires. Not sure I’d want to ride it when wet. Lasted for maybe a K.
Into the hamlet, Les Bugnons, a dozen or more homes. Hard to imagine anyone living up here year-round but some of the houses definitely looked like they were. This is where things got interesting. I had a map, an IGN map, 1:25,000 scale, the smallest scale available. Rode through the hamlet and got to a branch with a small sign. Time to look at the map. The name on the sign didn’t exist on the map. Okay, when in doubt follow what looks more used. Went left. And up. Another junction and this time with a name on the sign I recognized and an arrow pointing left. Left went down, right went up. Went right. I hate losing vertical I’ve worked hard to gain. Another junction, another sign, this time with two names I couldn’t find. And both roads dirt. Straight ahead looked more used but there was also a sign saying the road was private and that conditions could be shaky. My interpretation. That’s the way I went.
The good call. A sweetheart of a dirt track, smooth, close to flat, and I’m whipping along having a fine old time and wondering where in the hell this is taking me. I wasn’t worried though. I mean to my left and way below was the Maurienne Valley which meant I was traversing across the mountain and sooner or later I was bound to hit the paved road to the Col du Grand Cucheron, assuming of course that the road didn’t just end and I’d have to backtrack everything.
The road got more primitive and started to drop. That made me slightly nervous. Losing altitude was not what I wanted because I knew damn well I was way below the col. Kept going anyway. Then it flattened then started climbing again. This was in a thick forest and where I couldn’t see anything other than that I was somewhere on the ridge the Col du Grand Cucheron crosses. More flat, road smooth. Went past a sign facing the opposite direction. Stopped to see what it had to say. Same message as on the other end about it being a private road, etc. Good news because that meant this definitely wasn’t a dead end.
Got to a cabin, then a more substantial cabin, then a small cluster of real houses and a bunch of cars in a parking area. The road turned black and started diving down the mountain. And I was way below the col. Damn, looks like I’ve missed the dirt road to the col, again. Okay, follow this road down until it joins the normal road to the col then reclimb all this vertical! A hundred meters later the road does a curl to the left and there’s a forest road heading right and up. And a sign.
I swing onto the dirt, look at the sign, Col du Grand Cucheron with an arrow pointing up the dirt road. At last! Turned out to be more double track with a green center line than a road. Also rocky. And I think steep. Hard to tell because between the loose surface, me feeling tired, and the grade itself, judging the steepness wasn’t real scientific. But it felt steep. Stayed that way, or at least most of the time. There were some flat sections, all short, and even a quick descent, otherwise steady climbing. According to the Garmin data this section was 4 K long, 7% average but I wouldn’t place any bets on elevations from the Garmin.
Damned long ways though. Long enough that there were moments when I was wondering where the hell it was going. Except I knew it had to junction with the road to the col. Had to happen. Finally hit one particularly hard section of loose rocks on a steep grade and beyond could see an even worse section. Groaned out loud at the thought of having to ride up that. Only I didn’t. All of a sudden I popped out onto the road to the col, maybe a 100 meters to the right. Yes! The light was gorgeous, the sun low in the sky, the air clear and sharp. Stopped on the col, shot some pics, drank more water, wished I had some single-malt to celebrate with, put on my jacket, headed down. Into a headwind.
I’d been thinking the wind had died. Nope. I’d just been in the lee and protected by the thick forest. The drop off the col is fast with a 2,5 K or so section that averages over 9%. Makes for some impressive gravity pulls. Only the wind was knocking me around and slowing things down. Short descent, 3 K, maybe a bit more. Then a choice. Turn right and climb 3 K to the Col de Champ Laurent or stay in the valley and ride that all the way down. Down the valley would be theoretically easier but for the damn wind. But hey, we’re only talking 3 K to the col, totally doable. Maybe slowly but I’ll get there. And once there, oh man, party time, the plunge to Chamoux, 800 vertical meters, 9 plus K. Toss out a total of almost 2 K of sections of easy grades and the rest is sustained steep, like eyeball warping steep
Up it is. No choice really. I’ve worked too hard to pass up the party off the col. Up through a wash of golden light, past fields of dandelions transformed into glowing puff balls of white, across fields of that deep green of early spring. And I’m climbing way better than I expected. Even finding it easy, despite the first K supposedly around 10%, but I don’t believe that. I’m entirely too relaxed for that kind of steepness.
Get passed by some guy looking fast while I’m shooting some pics. Surprised to see someone out this late in the day. Then again I am so why not someone else. Hard to beat riding through late day, low angle light. Back on the bike, grade easy, road smooth, views soft on the eyes, across the valley clearly defined against the white mountains in the background the slot on the ridge that’s the Col du Grand Cucheron. Seems far away now, both in time and distance. Like another ride. Spinning up through these lazy, sweeping curves surrounded by a chorus of singing birds. Some finish to the day. Or almost the finish. Soon the plunge.
Arrive on the col carrying some slow speed, feeling good. The rider who passed me is there, drinking, enjoying the views. I stop to drink, put on my jacket, we talk. Asks me where I came from, Start to explain then say I’d probably best just show him on the map. Which I do with his eyes kind of popping out of his head when he realizes how I got to the Grand Cucheron. Then he’s looking at my bike and the fat tires and asking a rash of questions, totally intrigued by the possibilities served up by a fat-tired road bike. Then we’re off, he one way, me into the descent to Chamoux.
There’s no way I can tell it correctly, no way. One of those have to be there, feeling it, guiding it, riding it moments, only the moment went on and on. It was all about letting go, catching this gravity wave, flowing down the mountain, the bike, the tires, me blended into one constantly moving, shifting entity. It was a lot like the crazy dive off the Col de l’Arpettaz five days before, only this time the road surface was clean and constant and I wasn’t half dead from the cold.
I’d forgotten how good this descent is. Pretty much the perfect expression of pure speed on a weaving, diving road barely wide enough for one car. I hadn’t seen a single car in hours so there was this huge temptation to abandon myself to the rush and assume the no-car scenario would play out to the end. But I didn’t. Transforming myself into some hood ornament never has struck me as a stunning idea. Instead I played the edge. Crushing the speed but always with the fingers floating the pads over the rims, from time to time dialing back the speed a wee bit and hoping it was enough if the unexpected arrived. The bike, tires, road, gravity, me so tight I felt like we were this magic carpet ripping down off this mountain past an audienceof silent trees watching our show. I wasn’t searching for the speed, just riding the flow, following my eyes, but for sure whenever possible I’d tuck low and feel the bike accelerate. And every switchback saw me out of the saddle sprinting. But never forcing the issue, just carving down this forested wave of a mountain.
And just like that it was over. Into the village of Chamoux, pulling back the speed, the train of smoking energy tailing out behind flowing back inside, coalescing, gathering. From there back to the car a slow spin, savoring the feelings. What can I say. Just another ride in the Alps. Not bad, not bad at all.
Some pics, and obviously none from the downhill.
Also a link to a fun vid of the ride
https://www.relive.cc/view/955310193