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#1
10-17-2018, 05:16 AM
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Day 4 or the 8-day Alps Groad Tour.
Day 4, Colle Blegier, 2381 meters, 1384 vertical meters (4530 ft). Wasn’t in the original tour plan, or sort of but in the cloudy perimeter of possibilities. Crept into a vague focus after Mike and Lee’s performance on the Petit Mont Cenis double-track. But first Finestre had to be tackled. After that we’d see.
Finestre was astounding and by the time we were back at our hotel in Oulx, the two of them were ready to follow me up anything. Normally the next day we would have been on the road back to France to ride Plateau d’Emparis on our way to Bourg d’Oisans. But I’d told them about the double-track to Blegier. Running change number 2 happened. Early morning, stepped out of the hotel, checked the sky, gray but thin. Back in the hotel, breakfast, bags packed and stored, water bottles filled, tire pressures checked, smoke blown to the gods, ready to roll. Oulx quiet, streets empty, cruise through, hit the highway, paceline down the edge to Salbertrand, 6 K away. Little traffic, a relaxing spin, high above to the right the ridge we’ll ride up. Clouds hovering over the heights with splashes of blue. Into the village looking for the road I barely remember. Been a couple of years. See one looking vaguely familiar so drop down it. Onto a bridge over the autoroute and the road’s looking like an access to a concrete plant or something. Then I spot it, a narrow road to the left crossing a tight bridge over the river. We’re good. A fork, dirt both directions, left more inviting but I’m sure right is what we want even if it is discouragingly rocky. The further we go the rockier it gets, which I don’t remember. Still sure it’s the good direction. Small parking area with a gate closing the road to traffic. I remember this. Tell Lee and Mike that from here on up the track is vastly better. And hoping like hell my memory is correct. Past the gate, onto the old road, if that’s the word for it, surface dirt, leaves, embedded rock, but smooth and sure. A double-track with generous tolerances. When I’d told them about the ride to Blegier I’d said I was pretty sure it could be ridden all the way. Two years ago my low was a 34/29. Now I’m turning a 30/32 and hoping I was right about lower gearing. The hope disappears; I’m sure it’s ridable. I’m spinning up the track with a wonderful ease, with effort but still spinning, not laboring, Lee and Mike have even lower gearing on their rental bikes and are right behind me riding with a zeal that’s a joy to behold. Grades are remarkably steady, at a guess mostly hovering around 9%. Hard to judge on dirt because the same grade on asphalt is always easier. A climb rich in switchbacks, 28 of them in the first half, or roughly first half. All round and firm, no scrabbling for traction. Big trees, deciduous, fir, pine, melèze (like a fir only the needles turn orange in the autumn and fall to the ground like leaves). At first the sounds of the valley, trains and autoroute traffic, were strong but slowly the higher we climbed the more the silence of the forest folded over us. Our bikes were quiet, except for the two Opens when they coasted, Sram freewheels, enough said. Lots of sections were covered with a thin loam that absorbed any sounds the tires might have made. I think Mike and Lee were thoroughly enthralled. I know I was. Carved around one switchback I’d been looking forward to because just beyond it is this wonderful bike rack, a huge log with slots for bike tires. Had to get a shot of the three bikes parked. A little further up and below the road is this old house and outbuildings that have been beautifully restored and modernized and decorated with sculptures in the yard. One of them is right along the road, an elf hugging a toadstool, or that’s what I think it is. Gorgeous place fixed up with enviable style. More climbing, the forest lighter now, grades pretty much the same as they’ve been from the beginning. Occasional breaks in the trees with views of the valley way below and high peaks to the north. I knew we were getting close to what I think of as the halfway point, a park at the end of a road coming up from the ski resort above Oulx but the getting close seemed to go on way longer than I thought it would. When we finally got there I wasn’t even expecting it. But super happy to see it because of a fountain with spring water. Both my bottles were dry. Mode shift. Until now clearly a road, albeit narrow and uncivilized, but still a road. To the col more primitive, the track narrower, still mostly smooth enough but with lots of rough too. Plus ramps of pain, places I walked 2 years ago. Effectively mostly a single-track even though still a jeep road, the single-track created over time by hikers and mountain bikers following the smoothest line, weaving back and forth over the old road. I was pretty sure from here on would be well beyond Mike’s and Lee’s comfort zones. I mean to my knowledge neither of them had ever ridden anything like this on road bikes, which is what we were on, road bikes wearing fat tires. Which is why on Day 2 I’d led them out past Col du Petit Mont Cenis onto the double-track curling around the mountain. I wanted to see if they could ride to Colle Blegier. Obviously the answer had been yea, they can ride it. Now they had to. Water bottles filled, back to it. I was looking forward to this, wanted to see if with the lower gearing I really could ride it all. If I could, the climb to Blegier would instantly be shoved to the head of my hit parade list. The clouds that had been hovering over the ridge earlier must have gotten tired of hovering. They were now well down into the trees. Brilliant blue skies are always spectacular in the mountains and make people unable to communicate with any words longer than wow but the woods with these ghostly wisps of white swirling through their branches was gorgeous. And silent, not muted silent but like an almost total lack of any sound. Except when the trail reared up in some gnarly, crooked ramp where I had to use every bit of power I had to get up. If the sound of my breathing was as loud outside my head as it was inside, must have been a deafening. Two of those ramps had me slammed up against red-line, and maybe past. But only for an instant. Between ramps the riding was exquisite, a fat single-track wandering back and forth up the road, the road intimately following every contour across the mountain under a canopy of trees looming out of the fog. The ground cover looked like it had already succumbed to the maybe-soon-to-arrive months of cold and snow. Or maybe they’d suffered from the same drought the french Alps were experiencing. Curled back to the left and started up a long, relatively easy traverse through small trees and alpine meadows and I suddenly realized we’d done it, we’d ridden all the steep sections, all the ones I’d walked two years ago. Moved down a cog, laughing, I was pumped. And now swaths of blue were appearing. Came around a bend to the right and into a small basin and there was nothing but brilliant blue overhead. Behind me I heard Mike laughing out loud. The col was just ahead with one final challenge to get past, a rocky section of the road I’d walked two years ago, combination of lack of a low enough gear and being tired as hell. Charged up it, no problem, cleaned it all the way to the gate closing the road to traffic. Clambered around the gate, rode the last few meters onto the col, leaned the bike against the summit sign, turned and watched Mike duck under the bar then ride up, a massive grin lighting up his face, his communication skills reduced to single syllable sounds pretty much unrecognizable as any form of english I was familiar with, but totally understandable. I glanced down the Strada dell’Assieta in the direction of Colle delle Finestre, not visible, and saw a cyclist coming towards us. Looked like he was on a mission. But still, kind of figured he’d stop to exchange hellos between fellow cyclists since we were all well the hell out there on this crazy road in late September on wonderful day but no, definitely on a mission. Looked like he’d been anointed into the world of hipsters complete with facial hair, black clothing, skin paintings. For a moment I even thought he was riding a one-speed! Whatever or whoever he was his pace was impressive and it wasn’t long before we saw him high on the hill above Colle Blegier ripping along the Strada dell’Assieta on the way towards Sestriere. Meanwhile Lee and Mike were looking out at the world around us in what appeared somewhat like a state of rapture. An understandable condition given the place, the setting, and what we’d done to get there. Hang time. Eat, drink, stare, shoot pics, soak up the sun, wander aimlessly. Now down, back down what we’d just ridden up. Not enough time to do the Strada to Colle Basset then down to Oulx and then drive to Bourg d’Oisans. I also really wanted to see what the trail would be like going down. Suspected it could be a good one. Plus coming up I’d seen a road going off to Sauze d’Oulx, the ski station above Oulx, and thought that might be interesting to check out. Could make a fast, fun return to Oulx. Down we went. Oh man, we’re talking fun, an absolutely beautiful wild mouse ride. I’d been sure it would be good but never for a moment it would be way beyond good, a fantastic dance down the mountain, the trail’s rhythm blending into the slopes, gravity pulling hard, tires carving, switchbacks sweet arcs of perfection, eyes following the line, bikes swooping back and forth following the eyes. And speed, damn it was fast, amazingly fast, but never crazy fast, just smooth, easy fast, the fingers playing the brakes, feeling the flow. I suspect the plunge down the trail was a massive revelation to Mike and Lee. I was pretty sure neither one of them had ever ridden a trail like this and never gone down a trail like this at the speeds we were going, and we were doing it on friggin road bikes! Totally amazing. Got to the junction with the road I wanted to check out. Sweet, smooth, fast, swinging turns, swooping dips across a steep hillside of trees. Hit the asphalt, the road down into Sauze d’Oulx, the road coming down from Colle Basset, the one I rode two years earlier. I remembered this puppy with its crazy steep grades and massive acceleration, even scary acceleration at times. Scary because we were back in civilization with people and cars and our bikes are straining at the leashes, dying to be released. Out of the ski station, down to Oulx, right into the parking lot where our van was waiting. Heads buzzed, stumbling around, putting the bikes inside, changing clothes, heads still full of where we’d been, what we’d done, hard to focus. Bags collected from the hotel, in the car, on the road, next stop Bourg d’Oisans, next ride, Plateau d’Emparis. I look at Mike and Lee, their eyes still a bit glazed, tell ‘em I told you this wasn’t your normal bike tour. Colle Blegier now sits alone at the top of my best of the best list, up and down. I just wish it wasn’t so far from where I live. 
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#2
10-17-2018, 09:06 AM
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It would be difficult to choose the best day of riding from days 3 to 8, but I would agree that this day was in the top two. It was the most rewarding climb because it was the hardest due to those short, very steep rocky pitches, but the payoff views with the clouds disappearing was just jaw dropping. The descent was a total gas as well. So glad we did this.
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#4
10-19-2018, 03:31 AM
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#5
10-19-2018, 06:15 AM
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Where do I register?   
__________________
 🏻* 
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#6
10-19-2018, 06:25 AM
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[QUOTE=weisan;2442790]Ok, I AM SOLD!!!
Where do I register? yer already 'registered'... 
__________________
Chisholm's Custom Wheels Qui Si Parla Campagnolo
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#7
10-19-2018, 08:56 AM
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Linear Mode
