velotel
07-07-2018, 05:06 AM
I know, I’ve said this in the past but, for those who haven’t gotten the idea yet, riding a fat-tired road bike is totally cool. Rips open so many options that it’s staggering at times. Like I’ve lived here on the plateau for almost 25 years, and I’ll be go to hell one evening recently I discovered yet another seriously fun ride. And it’s not even all that far away from my house! All because of my fat-tired road bike, the one and only StonerBike.
As usual I managed to get a way late start, as in late evening but with light until 10, no problem. Decided plenty of time to do the col above the house, and if I’m feeling good on top maybe drop down the back side, check out where the road was taken out by a combination gorged stream and unstable hillside. Supposedly a 2-year closure.
the usual rough start, like a V8 running on 3 cyclinders, seems to be pretty much normal anymore. Just ride through it, wait for things to smooth out, the rhythm kick in. Got passed by some guy at least 30-40% faster. Middle aged guy in lycra looking like he’s on a mission. Not even a flicker of interest in picking up my pace to catch his wheel.
I’ve ridden this road so many times over the years that it’s kind of nuts and I still never get tired of it. Tired by it, absolutely, tired of it, never. Splendid views all the way, to the south the Vercors plateau and the unmistakable silhouette of the Monte Aguille, a block of vertical faces and a summit so flat and large a plane once landed on it. And took off. Across the valley the Alps still white with snow. And towering overhead the Dent de Crolles, the summit dominating the village where I live.
Topped out, feeling good, a nice rhythm burbling through the system. So, down the back side, past a makeshift gate closing the road. This is the steep side, the first 2 K off the col average 10 - 11%. There’s worse down lower, half K at 16% but I think that’s where the flood happened. Road a laner-and-a-quarter, barely, rustic pavement, lots of slumps and humps from logging trucks and unstable land. No traffic now to clean the asphalt, moss expanding its hold on the roadway.
Hit the bottom of the first section where the road curls left and climbs up onto a sort of broad hump. The only easy section on this side. My son and I watched Indurain and the peloton roll through here once during the Critérium Daphiné. This was when Indurain ruled.
The road curling, climbing, dropping. Lots of branches and stones on the roadway. Watching the evolution will be interesting with no cars to clean things. Hit the high point before the plunge into the steepness and the missing road. Decide to turn around, head back up. Maybe ride the forest road a K or so short of the col if I still have the energy. Just a short out and back but some nice views plus it’s remarkably peaceful back there. If I have the energy. Just getting back to the col is guaranteed to put me in the red, always does, it’s that rude, at least for me.
Get to the junction feeling good. Hang a right onto the dirt, start climbing. Easier grade than on the blacktop. Surface smooth, packed dirt, embedded rock. Pitch stiffens, onto my climbing cog, hands in the drops, picking my line,
Rode this long ago, on a mountain bike. There’s a trail that drops down a crazy steep hillside into the valley on the other side of the ridge. As I recall this dirt road ends where the trail starts but really kind of forgotten.
Exquisite light. I love riding in the evening, sun low, air cooler, soft silence with birds singing. Lots of hollow popping sounds as my tires roll over small rocks. Keep stopping to shoot some pics, the views too magnetic to pass by, the iphone my son and daughter-in-law gave me too easy to break out and use. Shooting through slots in the trees into the heart of the Chartreuse, a pocket of rugged peaks, round valleys, scattered villages. Supposed to be the wettest place in France, or at least one of them for sure. Intense greens, near vertical walls covered in trees and bushes.
Hit some steep pitches I didn’t remember. Nothing radical, just demanding focus instead of looking at the views. Up around a steep bend to the left and the road goes all limp and I’m moving down the cogs, ripping along a generous double-track, picking lines. Gorgeous! And I have absolutely no memory of all this.
Road slides into a gentle angle down across the slope and now I’m really wondering where the heck I am and where this is going. I mean in my memory it’s nothing but a short climb up towards the ridgeline. No descending at all. But here I am, going down, gently, in fact closer to flat than down. Sweet riding luring me on, lightly technical, sometimes muddy but always a firm line around the edges. Oops, some sort of round, rough ditch cutting the road. Looks like the slope slipped and somebody fixed it just enough with a tractor. I half wonder if this is the start of the slide that took out the road way below.
The track becomes more primitive, more double-track than road, but generous double-tracks. Starting to climb again, but barely, then into a curling, steepish section, the trees tall, occasional rays of sun slicing through. I’ve got a pretty rough idea of where I am in general terms but outside of that no idea where this track is going and what I’m going to find at the end.
Forest thickens, more climbing, then a slow curve to the left, up a hill, and I break out of the forest into a prairie of grasses and wildflowers sweeping up to a ridgeline. I swear if I could sing, I would have started singing something from the Sound of Music. I also now knew where I was and what I’d be looking at when I got to the ridgeline. Or at least I was pretty sure I knew.
In front of me a sloping plain of grasses with two narrow tracks arcing up to the ridgeline. Everything’s still damp from recent rains but there’s just enough grip in the tracks to keep me rolling, or enough as long as I keep my weight where it needs to be and don’t apply too much power. One short, tricky bit of a slippery hump and then I’m home free, rolling onto the ridge, moving down the cogs. Stunning finish.
I was right, I’m where I thought I’d be, though I’ve never been there before, just knew it was there. Beyond the ridge is a broad basin flowing into a shallow valley that drops down to the village of Le Sappey. In the distance the limestone cliffs and summits of the Vercors massif, somewhere unseen in the valley way, way below between the Vercors and the mountains where I am is the swarming city of Grenoble. And I’m totally alone in a sea of grasses and silence. Excellent. I look back from where I’ve come and am amazed at how far away the Dent de Crolles is now. I had no idea I’d come so far.
Sun’s setting, light sliding down the distant slopes, time to turn around, back what I came up, then back over the col. Turns out to verge on being a wild mouse ride. As in relatively fast with lots of quick, demanding line-picking all the way back to the asphalt. Beautiful. Hit the climb to the Col du Coq, pure brutality. From a fast, dirt downhill straight into a few hundred meters of 13, 14, 15% climbing. Serious pain. But I did it then managed to ride the next K plus of only 9 and 10% grades with a modicum of slow style. Got to the col, grinning like an idiot even if my legs were howling in pain. I ignore them, they like to complain a lot.
Bonus time, the big reward, the mind-rippling plunge back to the plateau where I live. Gravity pulling hard. A couple of straights where hitting 80 is easy. Both end with lots of braking into tight, round switchbacks. Partway down is a section through the woods where the road does these swinging, gracefully linked back-and-forth curls, open enough for speed but tight enough that there’s little margin for error. Plus the road surface is hopping around. I love it.
Turns out this evening is one of those times when I’m locked in the groove, an easy smoothness with the lines etched in crystalline clarity, swept up in a rhythm dictated by the road, the mountain, the air, even the light of a setting sun brushing the peaks across the valley. As glorious a plunge as I’ve ever done. The perfect end to a fine day.
Also once again the perfect argument for a fat-tired road bike. Discovered a col I didn’t even know existed, did some fun technical dirt, some fast dirt, maxed out the system on paved climbs, then wrapped it all up with a beautiful speed dance with my bike carving lines as sweet as any pure road bike could pull off. Just a small ride, 30 K with 1100 vertical (18,5 mi, 3600 ft), nothing for the history books, but what a joy. And all this from right out the door of my house!
Some pics, all shot with this little technological marvel that apparently can also make phone calls, control music, pay for stuff, etc., but is totally worthless for cleaning the house, doing the dishes, etc. Highly selective skill set.
Anyway, pics are from two rides. I had so much fun riding this that 10 days later did it again. Only the second time the air was clear enough to count the needles on trees across the valley. Thus there’s a definite lack on continuity between the various shots.
As usual I managed to get a way late start, as in late evening but with light until 10, no problem. Decided plenty of time to do the col above the house, and if I’m feeling good on top maybe drop down the back side, check out where the road was taken out by a combination gorged stream and unstable hillside. Supposedly a 2-year closure.
the usual rough start, like a V8 running on 3 cyclinders, seems to be pretty much normal anymore. Just ride through it, wait for things to smooth out, the rhythm kick in. Got passed by some guy at least 30-40% faster. Middle aged guy in lycra looking like he’s on a mission. Not even a flicker of interest in picking up my pace to catch his wheel.
I’ve ridden this road so many times over the years that it’s kind of nuts and I still never get tired of it. Tired by it, absolutely, tired of it, never. Splendid views all the way, to the south the Vercors plateau and the unmistakable silhouette of the Monte Aguille, a block of vertical faces and a summit so flat and large a plane once landed on it. And took off. Across the valley the Alps still white with snow. And towering overhead the Dent de Crolles, the summit dominating the village where I live.
Topped out, feeling good, a nice rhythm burbling through the system. So, down the back side, past a makeshift gate closing the road. This is the steep side, the first 2 K off the col average 10 - 11%. There’s worse down lower, half K at 16% but I think that’s where the flood happened. Road a laner-and-a-quarter, barely, rustic pavement, lots of slumps and humps from logging trucks and unstable land. No traffic now to clean the asphalt, moss expanding its hold on the roadway.
Hit the bottom of the first section where the road curls left and climbs up onto a sort of broad hump. The only easy section on this side. My son and I watched Indurain and the peloton roll through here once during the Critérium Daphiné. This was when Indurain ruled.
The road curling, climbing, dropping. Lots of branches and stones on the roadway. Watching the evolution will be interesting with no cars to clean things. Hit the high point before the plunge into the steepness and the missing road. Decide to turn around, head back up. Maybe ride the forest road a K or so short of the col if I still have the energy. Just a short out and back but some nice views plus it’s remarkably peaceful back there. If I have the energy. Just getting back to the col is guaranteed to put me in the red, always does, it’s that rude, at least for me.
Get to the junction feeling good. Hang a right onto the dirt, start climbing. Easier grade than on the blacktop. Surface smooth, packed dirt, embedded rock. Pitch stiffens, onto my climbing cog, hands in the drops, picking my line,
Rode this long ago, on a mountain bike. There’s a trail that drops down a crazy steep hillside into the valley on the other side of the ridge. As I recall this dirt road ends where the trail starts but really kind of forgotten.
Exquisite light. I love riding in the evening, sun low, air cooler, soft silence with birds singing. Lots of hollow popping sounds as my tires roll over small rocks. Keep stopping to shoot some pics, the views too magnetic to pass by, the iphone my son and daughter-in-law gave me too easy to break out and use. Shooting through slots in the trees into the heart of the Chartreuse, a pocket of rugged peaks, round valleys, scattered villages. Supposed to be the wettest place in France, or at least one of them for sure. Intense greens, near vertical walls covered in trees and bushes.
Hit some steep pitches I didn’t remember. Nothing radical, just demanding focus instead of looking at the views. Up around a steep bend to the left and the road goes all limp and I’m moving down the cogs, ripping along a generous double-track, picking lines. Gorgeous! And I have absolutely no memory of all this.
Road slides into a gentle angle down across the slope and now I’m really wondering where the heck I am and where this is going. I mean in my memory it’s nothing but a short climb up towards the ridgeline. No descending at all. But here I am, going down, gently, in fact closer to flat than down. Sweet riding luring me on, lightly technical, sometimes muddy but always a firm line around the edges. Oops, some sort of round, rough ditch cutting the road. Looks like the slope slipped and somebody fixed it just enough with a tractor. I half wonder if this is the start of the slide that took out the road way below.
The track becomes more primitive, more double-track than road, but generous double-tracks. Starting to climb again, but barely, then into a curling, steepish section, the trees tall, occasional rays of sun slicing through. I’ve got a pretty rough idea of where I am in general terms but outside of that no idea where this track is going and what I’m going to find at the end.
Forest thickens, more climbing, then a slow curve to the left, up a hill, and I break out of the forest into a prairie of grasses and wildflowers sweeping up to a ridgeline. I swear if I could sing, I would have started singing something from the Sound of Music. I also now knew where I was and what I’d be looking at when I got to the ridgeline. Or at least I was pretty sure I knew.
In front of me a sloping plain of grasses with two narrow tracks arcing up to the ridgeline. Everything’s still damp from recent rains but there’s just enough grip in the tracks to keep me rolling, or enough as long as I keep my weight where it needs to be and don’t apply too much power. One short, tricky bit of a slippery hump and then I’m home free, rolling onto the ridge, moving down the cogs. Stunning finish.
I was right, I’m where I thought I’d be, though I’ve never been there before, just knew it was there. Beyond the ridge is a broad basin flowing into a shallow valley that drops down to the village of Le Sappey. In the distance the limestone cliffs and summits of the Vercors massif, somewhere unseen in the valley way, way below between the Vercors and the mountains where I am is the swarming city of Grenoble. And I’m totally alone in a sea of grasses and silence. Excellent. I look back from where I’ve come and am amazed at how far away the Dent de Crolles is now. I had no idea I’d come so far.
Sun’s setting, light sliding down the distant slopes, time to turn around, back what I came up, then back over the col. Turns out to verge on being a wild mouse ride. As in relatively fast with lots of quick, demanding line-picking all the way back to the asphalt. Beautiful. Hit the climb to the Col du Coq, pure brutality. From a fast, dirt downhill straight into a few hundred meters of 13, 14, 15% climbing. Serious pain. But I did it then managed to ride the next K plus of only 9 and 10% grades with a modicum of slow style. Got to the col, grinning like an idiot even if my legs were howling in pain. I ignore them, they like to complain a lot.
Bonus time, the big reward, the mind-rippling plunge back to the plateau where I live. Gravity pulling hard. A couple of straights where hitting 80 is easy. Both end with lots of braking into tight, round switchbacks. Partway down is a section through the woods where the road does these swinging, gracefully linked back-and-forth curls, open enough for speed but tight enough that there’s little margin for error. Plus the road surface is hopping around. I love it.
Turns out this evening is one of those times when I’m locked in the groove, an easy smoothness with the lines etched in crystalline clarity, swept up in a rhythm dictated by the road, the mountain, the air, even the light of a setting sun brushing the peaks across the valley. As glorious a plunge as I’ve ever done. The perfect end to a fine day.
Also once again the perfect argument for a fat-tired road bike. Discovered a col I didn’t even know existed, did some fun technical dirt, some fast dirt, maxed out the system on paved climbs, then wrapped it all up with a beautiful speed dance with my bike carving lines as sweet as any pure road bike could pull off. Just a small ride, 30 K with 1100 vertical (18,5 mi, 3600 ft), nothing for the history books, but what a joy. And all this from right out the door of my house!
Some pics, all shot with this little technological marvel that apparently can also make phone calls, control music, pay for stuff, etc., but is totally worthless for cleaning the house, doing the dishes, etc. Highly selective skill set.
Anyway, pics are from two rides. I had so much fun riding this that 10 days later did it again. Only the second time the air was clear enough to count the needles on trees across the valley. Thus there’s a definite lack on continuity between the various shots.