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#1
10-27-2020, 01:41 AM
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Riding the road of fallen leaves
Also known as Chemin Rurale N°3, Route des Montagnes, the road to the Col de l'Arpetttaz, one of my absolute favorite roads, right there at the top of the list elbowing itself in past a slew of famous and not so famous roads. Longer and it would instantly be alone on top. Well, maybe not totally alone, Colle delle Finestre would have some serious objections, but if absolutely pressed to name one, l'Arpettaz would be the call, if it was longer. The 1150 meters (3773 ft) of vertical, valley floor to summit, just isn't enough for the top spot, not with Finestre weighing in with 1694 vertical (5558 ft) and an average grade, top to bottom, of 9,1%!
The road to the Arpettaz defines everything I love in a road. A stingy one-laner, 42 switchbacks on the version I prefer, average grade 8% with lots of double-digit intensity ramps, traffic all but non-existent. I can't think of another road that so intimately blends into the forest and mountain slopes! Constant doesn't exist on this road. It's always moving, the roadbed leaning down the slope, then up the slope, then down again, then up, never flat. One moment the grade's easy, or at least easier, then suddenly fierce, then just as abruptly easier again. It's as if the road wasn't even made with machines, nor survey instruments. Maybe some local farmer with a tractor who knew the mountain well and had a wealthy of common sense. He just followed the path of least resistance, carving the line up through the forest with minimal impact on the slope. No cutting and filling, moving with the land instead of moving the land. It's a hiking trail that's wide enough for a car, and the farmer's tractor. And forget smooth, the road's old, cracked, warped, and buckled, the asphalt rough with countless patches and barely holding together. Wherever the land collapsed, the road department did a little blading then slapped another layer of asphalt down and called it good. And always oh so beautifully melded into the contours, soaring up through the forest in a marvelous rhythm, intimately following every wrinkle, every hump. It's the Kohn Concert of riding, a marvelous improvisation of a road dancing and weaving up the mountain. You never know where it's going next, what's around the next bend, the next switchback, like whoever laid it out knew where he ultimately wanted to get but wasn't too concerned about how he was going to get there. He just wandered following his sense of the hill, angling up across slopes until he found a shallow break in the slope where he could swing back and up in the opposite direction, sliding back and forth, caressing the contours, flowing up the mountain through a world of silence. It's the most fascinating climb I know. What's ahead is always a mystery, even after I've ridden it more times than I can count. Granted that may have something to do with my aging brain, but only a little bit. Mostly it's because I find myself riding in this mental, optical, aural bubble whose limits are defined by how far I can see, which is never far. I ride so lost in watching where I am that where I've ridden fades into blankness, and where I'm going isn't even a ripple vibrating through the gray matter. I'm just there, on my bike, feeling and seeing my legs pumping, watching the moss on the rock and trunks, listening for the sound that never comes. And this day watching the leaves. The leaves of autumn, splashes of brilliant yellows in clouds of dull reds and maroons and browns, a carpet of fallen leaves on the road at times so thick the road disappears and is just part of the slope. The only sounds the silence of tires rolling over a cushion of leaves and the occasional distinctive hollow pop when a tire rolls over the shell of some nut. I'm alone so don't really know but I suspect that if there was someone else with me, we'd speak rarely and always in the hushed tones reserved for encounters with unseen spirits. But this is the Kohn Concert for cyclists, this is Eric Clapton or Mark Knopfler soaring solo, so periodically there'll be some wild, melodic burst of energy and light and I feel my legs surging the bike forward, up some ramp, around some steep switchback, plunging into some new rhythm. I know, I've definitely gone off the deep end, totally jumped the rails, I mean give me a break already, the Kohn Concert for cyclists! I've got to be kidding, right? Well, no, I'm not. That's how the road to Arpettaz feels lots of times. Not always, sometimes it's just one long, massive struggle up a mountain. Sometimes. The rest of the time it's magic. Which is what the road of fallen leaves was, pure magic. Going up. I knew before I left the car that I didn't want to ride back down it, not with a carpet of leaves flooding the road surface. And not just a carpet of leaves, a carpet of wet leaves. Beautiful going up, down, not so beautiful. So down the southeast slopes, the sun-washed road, but still just as narrow, twisty, and rumpled. A sort of Kohn Concert by someone dreaming of doing a Kohn Concert, but without all the ingredients. But damned near all. A wonderful, intense, entertaining descent, a descent for those with the passion and skills for riding downhill fast. But still not as good as riding down the road of fallen leaves on a day with no leaves on the road. That's a descent that soars into the mystical. And yea, I know, not everyone would describe that road like that. Maybe even hardly anyone. Doesn't matter. For me it's a gift from the cycling gods, for which I forever give thanks. A rare and pure gem of a road, and even more so inundated with leaves under a canopy of color. Some pics, the first is from another ride, the rest iphone shots before the battery died Last edited by velotel; 10-27-2020 at 01:42 AM. Reason: pic removed 
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#4
10-27-2020, 04:51 AM
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I think you need a riding partner (me waving my hand)!
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#6
10-27-2020, 05:59 AM
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Thank You!
__________________
chasing waddy
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