End of Summer in the Alps, Part 3

Continuing from Part 2.

The three days off the bike at Lake Como were braw, but I was ready to get going again. We had been looking at the maps and discussing possible runs and routes to take us homewards. We still had around a week to get back to the ferry, plenty time to visit places. Aidan was keen to do the Alps.

“Eh? We’ve done loads of the Alps”

“You ken what I mean.”

When Aidan says “the Alps” there’s only one place he’s really thinking about. The French Alps. Aidan was keen to show Jess some of the mountains of her home country that she’d not had the chance to visit yet. I was up for it too. I love the French Alps. They have a different feel to the Tyrol Alps where we’d been. They feel more remote, have more variation of landscapes and are all a bit higher and rougher. I figured that a five hour mix of motorway and twisty roads would see us in Valloire, an alpine town tucked between two great passes.

Even with some busy traffic around Milan, the Italian motorway was seen off in good time before we jumped onto the SS24. Fast hairpins, more stunning scenery and an impressive tunnel were enjoyed as we climbed back up into the hills and up to the border. The French border guards were great, having a laugh with us and asking if we had any whisky. We stopped for a bite to eat in Montgenevre, a ski resort that sits on a sort plateau. It was like a ghost town, there was no one around except another couple who were eating outside a restaurant which we were told was closed. the folk there offered us a couple of huge sandwiches and a coffee each, which we enjoyed to the view of the female member of the other couple falling off her chair.
It's OK, she was fine.

We'd expected to see Aidan and Jess ride past at some point, but they must have stopped off a bit earlier. We jumped back on the bike and carried on towards Briancon where we followed the now quite familiar Col du Lautaret up to the stunning Col du Galibier. After riding up through a constant changing grass/moss/whateveritis, the landscape takes on a sort of lunar style at the top. We carried on up to the top, missing the tunnel out. Photos taken, we snaked down to Valloire, riding over all the graffiti on the road from the cycling competitions, which makes the run down even better. We headed straight to the campsite and got pitched up. We were the only people there! Not long after we arrived Aidan and Jess rolled up and a cyclist came in. There were hardly any shops or anything else open. I was amazed as I rode up to the supermarket. I had thought that Valloire would have still been quite busy with mountain biking, but it would seem that at the end of September everything closed. Luckily there was one place remaining open where we could get food. The cyclist from the campsite joined us and the five of us had a good night out.

I was really looking forwards to the ride up the next day. Aidan, Carina and I had ridden the same route previously, for me it’s still one of the best in the Alps, following the Route Des Grande Alps from Valloire up to Bourg Saint Maurice. Leaving Valloire up and over the Col du Telegraphe I made sure and not take a wrong turn at the bottom, following the proper route to the Col de l’Iseran.

Col de l’Iseran is the highest pass in the Alps and one of my favourites due to the various different road surfaces, braw corners, cliff edge drops and stunning scenery. It was riding up the south side of said pass that we had a pretty scary experience. We were riding along one of the narrower sections when suddenly a Jeep Cherokee began to overtake, blasting his horn. The cunt driving was clearly in quite the rush because up ahead the road narrowed a bit. I had two options.

1. Slam on the brakes and get out the way.
2. Stand my ground and possibly get knocked off a cliff and fall 500 to 600 meters.

I don’t think HB would have appreciated option 2, and it might have damaged the bike, so option 1 it was. The guy squeezed past and I set off after him thinking “I better have a strong word with that gentleman.” I caught up with the jeep after a couple of corners and then a big truck appeared only for the lunatic Jeep pilot to overtake it on blind corner. Up the road a bit and another truck was passed in a similar way. I genuinely thought the guy was going to kill someone. By the time we got past the truck the Jeep arsehole was nowhere to be seen. We got a photo at the top and I tried to calm down a bit. HB was also pretty shaken up. This was her first experience of a fuckwit actually nearly killing us on the bike, as opposed to just another proximity arsehole incident.

The ride down to Val d’Isere was much more enjoyable and quite a bit slower. A couple of times I thought I saw Jeep arsehole, but there were quite a few black Jeeps in the area so it could have been anyone. We met up with Aidan and Jess who had bumped into a friend of Jess’ family who she’d not seen for years. We told them about what happened and I tried to show them on the helmet camera, ranting and raving while we also tried to decide where to stay. Val d’Isere’s campsite was closed nipping our accommodation plans in the bud. A wee look online and we’d picked another campsite up the road at Les Saises. On arrival however the site didn’t seem to be great for tents, rocky, rooty ground being the only place available to pitch our tents and there was no one around to advise us otherwise. I was tired, pissed off with Jeep arsehole and far too hot. Everyone else took over and found another site further up the road in Bourg Saint Maurice. A short ride later and they were checking it out. It was huge, pretty empty, had nice grassy pitches and great facilities. It was great to get pitched up and out the bike gear. I nipped to the big supermarket for some beers and snacks and we relaxed on the campsite. We were joined by Steve Keefe, his daughter Alex and their group of English bikers who were also on a tour. Steve recognised me from my infamous C90 which HB found hilarious. We got the craic with them for a bit, sharing biking stories and brexshit despair over a beer before saying our goodbyes and heading for some food.     

I woke up just in time to say goodbye to Steve and his crew as they hit the road. We fumbled around with croissants and cups of tea or coffee while packing the bikes back up. It really was beginning to look like autumn in the Alps, with the ground being a carpet of brown and orange leaves. We carried on northwards. If Col de l’Iseran was my favourite pass, today we’d be riding over Aidan’s favourite, Cornet de Roseland.

Cornet de Roseland takes you from Bourg Saint Maurice over to Beaufort. Heading from south to north, the initially tight, twisty road opens up to wide sweeping hairpins once out of the trees. We narrowly avoided clipping a few gophers (or marmots) which scurried out in front of the bike, reigning in my enthusiastic throttle hand. For the first time ever we avoided stopping in Beaufort, riding on to Flumet before stopping at the top of Col des Aravis for some lunch with a view of Mont Blanc. On the way down we had more animal encounters, this time in the form of a big cow which a passing cyclist encouraged off the road. Clearly the cow didn’t understand my poor French.

Another pass, Col de la Colombiere, took us over more typical twisty alpine roads, still heading north towards Les Gets. It was still roasting and I expected the whole place to be hoaching with mountain bikers. Les Gets however appeared to be closed. And I couldn’t find the campsite we had picked. After a solid inspection on the map, a tantrum (me) and a fluent French phone call (Jess), we got back on the bikes and headed to the campsite, just up the road in Saint Jean d’Aulps. In no time we were pitched up and speaking to a couple of cats and their owners who lived on the site. Aidan and I had a spin to the shop for bits and bobs and we relaxed on the site. We inevitably got hungry and wandered along to the town for some food, finding a wee burger place which suited everyone. There was a pub next door playing live music which Jess went into to ask how long it was going on for, being French she was the best candidate for crossing the language barrier. Jess came back out.

“The woman asked me to speak English! The place is closing soon anyway.”

It appeared that everyone had went up the road to another pub. It also appeared that everyone in the town spoke more English than French. Scottish, Irish and English accents filled the pub which was holding a quiz which we entered, and graciously lost, despite being accused of grassing another team up for cheating. After quickly explaining that we didn’t give two fucks if anyone cheated on the quiz, we got some more beers in and I spoke to a few of the folk in the pub. Everyone said they had moved over to this wee French town, doing a variety of different jobs and living this amazing alpine lifestyle. No one I asked had an interest in any of the typical alpine pastimes such as mountain biking or skiing, but just said how amazing it was to live there. It should have been great, but instead I got a whiff of an atmosphere that reminded me of the ending from the film “The Beach” with the people not speaking like they were as happy as they were trying to appear.

 

We'd decided to revisit Switzerland on our homewards leg of the journey. Switzerland is a stunning country, not far behind Norway in the "Fucking behave yourself, scenery!" stakes. However, it trumps Norway by quite a bit in the "get caught speeding, get fucked beyond recognition" stakes. Speaking to any biker will reveal horror stories. Either personal ones of those accounted for on behalf of a friend or relative. You really need to keep your shit in check there. 

We rode over Col du Corbier, saying goodbye to France and riding down into Switzerland. Before long my persecution fears had vanished. Going slow is easy when everything around you looks as good as Switzerland. 

 

We had chosen Interlaken as our destination. HB and I were a bit further ahead than Aidan and Jess after various photo stops and lunch stops. We were nearly at Interlaken when I spied a sign for a place that I recognised. Lauterbrunnen. I'm sure I'd seen someone's photo on Faceboook somewhere of Lauterbunnen, and I remembered thinking it looked good. Plusit was only a wee bit up the road.

"I'm just nipping up here for a wee look!" I roared at HB as we turned off, once again heading in the completely wrong direction. 

Fifteen minutes later were riding into Lauterbrunnen. Yes, it's fucking awesome. 

"Fuck this, we're staying here!"

We quickly found the campsite, checked out prices for camping and sent Aidan and Jess a message telling them where we were. I think this short notice change of plans was acceptable, Lauterbrunnen is absolutely beautiful. I wandered into town, mistakenly thinking it was a short ten minute walk away. Forty minutes later I was back at the campsite with beers and a few snacky things. Switzerland has a reputation for being really, really expensive, and some bit are. The wee Coop in Lauterbrunnen wasn't too bad but bizarrely only for some things. Beer wasn't too bad price wise, but a large bag of crisps worked out at around four quid. We were only staying the one night, so it was going to be a no expenses spared  meal in the restaurant, or it would have been if it wasn't booked up. Instead we got wired into the four quid crisps before wandering along to the pub. The wee pub was great, the reasonably priced food filled a hole and the punters in were great crack. Like us, many of them were visitors to Lauterbrunnen, nearly half of whom seemed to be BASE jumpers! We had a great night with them, watching their crazy videos, feeding the jukebox and shooting the shit with other travellers. 

 Me, Henry from South Korea and HB in the pub in Lauterbrunnen listening to Queen.

I was getting coffee the next morning when HB phoned me.

"Quickly quickly!! Come along the road, there's folk BASE jumping!!"

I never made it along in time to see the folk jumping, but I bumped into one of the guys from the pub. He was nearly back at the village. He explained that because he used a wingsuit (search on YouTube) he could nearly fly back to the pub!

We packed up and headed north. The route HB and I took went right past Rick and Andrea's place. It felt like weeks since we'd been there. We stopped in for a visit but they must have been out on their pushbikes. We left a mysterious present of two Swiss beers on their doorstep and carried on up the familiar Schwarzwald roads to our friend Wolfgang's place. As always it was great to see Wolfgang, getting the crack over a meal and a beer. With Wolfgang's help we booked into a hotel in Cochem for our last night of the trip, a good idea as it was getting cold at night. I noticed the chill while out taking some photos and in the morning water bottles left on the bikes were frozen.

Uta, Wolfgang's partner, put a great breakfast on for us a short ride away in Freiburg. Well filled, we got on the autobahn and headed north towards the German Moselle Valley. Once off the motorway the roads were really nice, twisting up and down the vally sides in narrow singletracks. even this late on in September the area was busy. Eventually we got into the busy town of Cochem and found our hotel. It's quite distinct as it had a streetfightered blade beside our balcony. We enjoyed our final night out in Cochem. It's a very busy tourist town, but still a nice place to be. Definitely worth a look if you're wanting somewhere within riding distance to the Ijmuiden ferry.

The run from Cochem to Ijmuiden was easy enough, we just managed to stay dry, avoiding the torrential downpours by luck or hiding in petrol stations. I couldn't complain though. We'd had it good for the whole trip, only getting pissed on way back in Austria, which felt like months before. I was well cold by the time we got to Ijmuiden. We had plenty time till we had to board the ferry so we warmed up with some chips in one of the wee cafes just beside the port.

After that it was plain sailing home.

Mike

Europe Tour 2016 Part 4 - Take the high roads.

Continued from Part 3

Even though I had waited till the last minute to pull my bike kit on I was still sweating like a pregnant nun as we geared up to leave Lake Como. We said our goodbyes to Faithir and Maw; they were heading north after we'd recommended Livigno so highly. I fired the bike up and plugged in the charger to recharge all my eleccy gear in the tankbag only to discover the plug had fallen apart and all the guts were rolling around in the socket. The parts were fished out with sweaty digits, luckily it was easy to reassemble the plug, and we were off. A sweaty commute to a petrol station was followed by the familiar motorway blast, the 130kph keeping us cool.
"The fucks going on here?" My GPS which we were relying on to guide us the correct route into the Alps was saying it was nearly out of charge. No good. I remembered the guts of that chargers falling into the auxiliary socket so at the next fuel stop I checked all the fuses. I was sure that the GPS was wired into the same circuit as the aux socket, but all the fuses under the seat were fine. Once the map had been studied and we were fuelled and rehydrated, we set off again. As we rode along I came up with the plan of phoning my Honda breakdown cover at the next fuel stop and asking them if there was a fuse for the aux/GPS circuit anywhere else. Unfortunately, the people who take the calls for Honda's breakdown are as much use as a chocolate fucking fireguard. I explained that I hadn't broken down but I needed some information regarding fuses. The operator wasn't interested so I hung up and gave Two Wheels Edinburgh, my local Honda dealer back in Scotland a call. They let me speak to Andy in the workshop who informed me there was a fuse for the aux/GPS circuit under the left hand fairing. He told me how to get the panels off. Sorted. We managed to get Aidan's temperamental GPS working and with as much as the route memorised from the map as possible, we set off for Pontechianale, high in the Italian Alps.
Once we were off the motorway we followed the relatively straight road through the gently rising wine country, before joining the bottom of Col d'Agnel, another awesome pass where Pontechianale sits halfway up on the Italian side on the banks of Lago di Castello. At the campsite I got our tent up and quickly set about stripping the plastics off the bike. Andy's instructions were spot on and sure enough, we found a blown fuse as I expected. Fuse replaced the bike was reassembled. All sorted in 45 minutes or so, will a wee help from Joe.

Pontechianale is a wee place, so there was only a few places to eat. We chose a nice pizzeria before heading out to find a bar. Down on the bank of the lake we found Aury's Bar. Aury's was a crazy place with a big fuck off sound system that seemed to play the same song over and over again. We had a great night, it was only us, a few locals plus Aury and his staff, one of whom was obsessed with taking selfies with us down by the jetty. We had planned to only stay the one night in Pontechianale, but there was something about the place that made us stay another night. The next day was spent chilling out once more. Aidan and Jamie fished the lake and were so successful Wojtek and Joe bought a rod too. While they fished HB and I went up the chairlift. I'm usually fine with chairlifts but I was shitting my breeks on this one, my keys for the bike were in my pocket and for some reason I was paranoid they were going to fall out and get lost. We got a coffee and a bite to eat at the top where the view, like so many views in the Alps, was stunning. I was much more relaxed on the way back down with my bike key's zipped up in HB's bag and I managed to get a few photos of the Marmots that were scurrying around the hill side.

Wojtek samples Grappa.

Aury's Bar.

Marmot.

Euan went up the chairlift after us, just managing to avoid a downpour on the way back. The rain didn't top the rest of the lads from fishing though, they pulled a good few fish out of Lago di Castello. There's a catch and kill rule on the lake, so our fish were donated to the folk who ran the campsite as way of an apology after we'd disturbed them coming back from Aury's the night before. Euan wandered about the village with HB and I before we all met up again that evening in Aury's. This time the bar was packed out; Italy were playing Germany. Aury was well pissed up, wandering about with an Italian flag as a cape and giving us free "Aury's Bar" prosecco. Itally got gubbed by the Germans so most of the crowd went home. Aury didn't seem to give two fucks though, within seconds of the game "Sofia" by Alvaro Soler was back on repeat and Aury was bouncing about the place. Jamie, Joe and Wojtek also told us that they were having to go home early, Joe had stuff to sort for his business, Jamie had really bad toothache and Wojtek was a riding in Joe's car. This would mean nearly a 1300 mile journey but that didn't seem to curtail the evening fun.

We packed up the following morning, hitting the road around 11. Col d'Agnel was quite busy with loads of big maxi scooters heading up the same way as us showing us some alternative overtaking methods. We stopped at the top for some photos and to say bye to Jamie, Joe and Wojtek. The views from the top are breathtaking. Col d'Agnel is the third highest in the Alps and the border between Italy and France is right at the top. There's even a line in the tarmac where the road changes countries.

Jamie, Joe and Wojtek split off heading for home while Aidan, Euan, HB and I joined the Route Des Grandes Alps, a tourist route that heads over the highest paved roads in Europe. This was the part of the trip I'd been looking forwards to the most. Forget what Top Gear said about Stelvio, these are the best driving roads in the Alps. We went over Col d'Izoard, stopping for lunch near the top as we went down the north side of the pass. The French high roads are really popular with the usual bikes, cars and pushbikes. The roads are a pleasure to ride and the scenery the standard alpine stunning. We took in the views over lunch while we watched some mad bastards skate down the pass on longboards. Col du Lautaret followed then it was Col du Galibier. I had ridden all these roads before and memories of flying about on my 1150 GS, scraping everything on the corners came flooding back. I must have also have been a mad bastard back then. As we rode up the Galibier I was acutely aware of just how steep and far the drops were off the side of the road. Villages looked like models with ants scurrying about far below. The Africa Twin was performing well, the superb Continental Trail Attack 2's gripped the road nearly as well as my arsehole was trying to grip the seat. The bike even decked out a few times but I was far more aware of our mortality than when I had been in flying solo in my mid twenties. My fear of heights didn't take away from the fun of the passes though. So many people from back home don't appreciate that two longish days ride could have you on these absolutely stunning roads. They have to be among the best driving roads in the world and photographs don't do the scenery justice. There's glaciers, snow capped mountains, blue lakes and rivers, landscapes that look like another planet and that awesome Alpine Fresh air, that really does smell like alpine fresh air freshner, but without the chemicals.

We pitched out tents in the excellent campsite in the town of Valloire. It was still roasting so we hid in the shade while drinking beers cooled in Euan's water filled pannier. Another great night was spent eating good food and having a laugh.We got a message that night from Jamie, Joe and Wojtek who were getting close to the Calais ferry, they were just passed half way home.
More stunning roads were ridden the following day. Col du Telegraphe ridden up and over before I made an arse of the navigation taking a left when I should have went right resulting in a 14 mile ride up a toll road. We pulled over at a picnic stop and had a heated discussion about which way we should have gone. I was getting called an arsehole for going the wrong way (Euan had a valid point, when you're going north and wat to head east, its right) while I was saying everyone else was arseholes for relying on my to lead the way all the time. Once everyone had been labelled an arsehole we studied the map, deciding the best thing to do was just go back the way we'd came. We stopped for lunch in Modane which lightened the dark mood. When you're travelling with a group it's pretty normal to get a bit frustrated with each other at times. It's also important that you don't hold a grudge or take anything personally, especially when everyone is is and hot and dehydrated as you are.
We continued north on the Route Des Grandes Alps, stopping for the occasional water, photo or fuel stop before we started climbing Col de l'Iseran. Col del'Iseran is the highest paved pass in Europe at 2764 metres, the weather takes its toll on the roads surface seemingly far more than the other passes. While the works to repair the road interrupted our ride it gave us some good opportunities for photos. There was still a fair bit of snow and ice near the top and the climb felt like it lasted for ages. Despite the rough road surfaces it is a cracking pass to ride, possibly not as much fun as Galibier but still stunning ride.

At the top of Col de l'Iseran we had a brief discussion on where we'd stay. We quickly agreed that Val d'Isere, the next town after we got down off the pass was where we'd stay. As we snaked our way through the walls of permafrost and wee alpine lakes we caught glimpses of Val D'Isere far below. Once in the town we headed straight for Tourist Information. We were going to push the boat out. Tonight we were staying in a hotel!

We checked into Hotel Altitude. Pristine rooms were filled with smelly bike kit. Euan and Aidan hit the swimming pool while I sat and read my book for a bit. Whatsapp let us know that Jamie, Joe and Wojtek had made it safely home to Scotland around 11.30 that morning after an epic 1300 mile journey.
After a while we headed out for a wander, looking at the various huge wooden sculptures that are in Val d'Isere, before ending up at a great restaurant up a side street. Euan and I went halfers on a fondue and a rake of red wine. I'd never tried a fondue before, its like a cheese sauce that's served in a pot over a wee burner. it comes with a load of bread which you dip in the cheese and it's all accompanied with some cold meats and salad. It was nice enough, but even I found it to be a bit of a cheese overdose. Full of cheese and wine we headed out to a pub for the rest of the evening where we had a laugh and spoke to the locals. They didn't seem too friendly until they realised we were "Ecosse". The barman had lived in Edinburgh for a couple of years. Val d'Isere was as good as I had remembered it to be.

Looking down on Val d'Isere

More to come in Part 5