Tour of the Alps 2002

Back to Day 3

Day 3: 24 June 2002: la jour de reste

I rode my bike 3 miles into Bourg-d'Oisans and back. I spent the day wandering around town and went with Judy to get her front wheel fixed, which had started making bad noises the day before on the climb up the Col de la Croix de Fer. It was a Mavic Ksyrium, and I did not have the tools to fix it myself. We took it to the bike shop in town, where a wonderfully Gallic mechanic spun it between his fingers, pursed his lips, shook his head thoughtfully, and came out with a torrent of spectacular authentic-sounding French. Judy, fortunately, comprehended; what it boiled down to was that he wasn't sure if the warranty coverage was good in France since the wheel was bought in the U.S. We left the wheel, he called Mavic who apparently said "but of course" and the wheel was fixed under warranty.

Judy and I spent part of the day in the cafe struggling with a French keyboard to send and read e-mail (on one of two iMacs that used a French phone card), sipped an Orangina or three, did laundry which involved quite a bit of translation and about 8 Euros, ate lunch at a cafe (a tasty calzone which, for some Gallic reason, included a raw egg inside the crust), shopped in the bike shop and bought a souvenir Alpe-d'Huez jersey, browsed other shops, mangled the French language to the amusement of the locals (including trying to buy batteries and instead asking for- I think- a drum set), and eventually wandered back to the gite. A lovely day of doing nothing in France.

Kirk and Keith, on the other hand, rode up les Deux Alpes, taking the N91 from Bourg-d'Oisans to the D220 up to les Travers and then to the road up les Deux Alpes. This route, suggested by Mme. Pauline, took them above the road construction under way in preparation for the Tour de France. They said it was a great ride. I wouldn't know- I wasn't there. I should have them write something up for this report, since they really enjoyed themselves. Les Deux Alpes had been a goal of Kieth's long before we left the U.S. They met up with Judy and I downtown, where we made ourselves at home in another cafe while Kirk and Keith ate lunch. I had a tisane, which was delicious; since I do not drink coffee, I discovered that the French seem to like tisanes as an alternative. Vervaine was one of the most common.

3.9 miles (6.24 km) in 35 minutes.

Day 4: 25 June 2002: a partier de Bourg-d'Oisans et afin de Col de l'Izoard

On June 25 we regretfully bid adieu to the gite and M et Mme, who were such pleasant and genial hosts, and Bourg-d'Oisans. The cost was unbelievably reasonable for quatre nuits avec les lits, les petits dejeuners et les diners delicieux avec les kirs en le jardin.

Getting on the N91, Kirk and I rode up the Col du Lauteret while Keith and Judy drove the Renault Scenic with the luggage. It was a misty, grey day with low clouds that gave the Romanche valley a mysterious look. The Lac du Chambon appeared like a transplanted Norwegian fjord plunked into the middle of the Alps. The roads were quiet and hushed, with relatively light traffic. This was good because we went through a number of long and often dark tunnels down the Romanche valley- 5 of them according to my map but it seemed like more. Some of the newer ones were well lit and felt pretty safe, except for when a semi-truck was coming up behind you. However, as was the case throughout France, drivers seemed quite willing to accommodate cyclists and waited patiently until it was safe to pass. Several of the tunnels were under construction which made the experience seem all the more unsettling- having to complete the one-lane construction zones before oncoming traffic was allowed through.

We had been gently climbing from Vert. After La Grave, with la Meije towering out of the mists above it, the climb began in earnest. It was surprisingly gentle and easy, compared to the speed at which I had come down two days before, and the ascent went by very quickly until I was actually amazed to see the top of the pass and the cluster of buildings there. I was feeling very good on the climb (my clubmates would have been amazed to hear me say such a thing). Keith and Judy were waiting at a cafe at the top and were surprised at how quickly we had arrived. Kirk had been a few minutes behind me and he came storming over the top of the pass. We had to yell quite a bit to get his attention.

Keith and Judy decided to ride, as did I, and Kirk decided to drive (somebody had to!). The plan was to ride down the N91 to Briancon, stop there for lunch, and then to climb the hors categorie Col d'Izoard. Our accommodations for the night were in Arvieux. The descent began at the Hotel des Glaciers, where we paused to look up the Galibier at the hill the Tour de France would be facing in a few weeks. From the Col du Lauteret, it was almost literally downhill all the way to Briancon. At the entrance to town, we pulled over to wait for Kirk. Following the roads somewhat blindly and on faith, we came to the foot of the climb out of town. Judy elected to press on while Kirk, Keith and I wanted lunch. We explored the immediate neighborhood, settling on an Italian cafe in a little square back off the street. After a delightful lunch of gnocchi we set out. Kirk's plan was to park the car somewhere, ride the Col d'Izoard and then go back for the car; Keith and I were planning to ride straight to the gite.

As seems to be the case in the Alps, the Col de l'Izoard begins at an intersection with no preamble or fanfare. It just looks like an ordinary hill in an ordinary neighborhood. Going up right after lunch was perhaps not the best plan and my gnocci were restive for a while as Keith and I rode up the lower slopes. Only a couple of km's into the climb, the medieval fort above modern Briancon became visible and was an impressive sight indeed. It's easy to see why the location was chosen, as it provides both excellent views of the surrounding area but would be easily defensible. The terrain was noticeably different from that of Bourg-d'Oisans; more arid (which goes with the 300 days of sun per year, I suppose) with yellowish, clayey appearing soil along the road. The French National Championships would be held on these roads in several days' time.

We rode to Cervieres, where we stopped to admire the stepped waterfall through the town. Standing on the bridge over the water, we saw the "new" church which looked several hundred years old. The old church and cemetary appeared to be above the town on the slopes across the stream from our destined hill. As it turned out, Kirk had parked the Renault just a hundred meters or so from where we were standing and had preceded us up the hill. The road wandered through the fringe of the town, through alpine meadows and then into a fragrant pine forest on the north slopes of the mountain. We climbed for kilometer after kilometer, refreshed by the smell of pines and the coolish breeze that was a welcome contrast to the heat of the lower valleys. As I passed the Refuge Napolean Kirk was descending back to the car, yelling encouragement to me as I "didn't look all that happy with the world" when he went by. I must have looked much worse than I felt, since I was actually having a pretty good time.

The landscape was changing again to a polychromatic scree with dramatic piles of rock thrusting through them. This was only a taster of what was to come. A few hairpins later and I found myself at the top of the col. There was a small building, affording some shelter from the brisk wind, where Kieth and Judy were sitting and waiting for me. Judy had been there quite a while and had been entertained by a multinational bunch of cyclists who had come up from the south and had passed me on their descent down the north side as I was climbing. We took photos at the tall stone marker at the top of the col and zipped off down the hill. The road was very twisty and fun, with paint from previous Tours de France all over the road. Clearly this was the side typically used for the race. Somewhere on this side of the mountain is a memorial marker for Fausto Coppi and (I think) Louison Bobet, but we missed it.

After a few kms there was a sign announcing the "Casse Desert." I remembered having heard of this on various Web sites and it was marked on my maps as well. I turned into the viewing area and looked back up the hill. Wow! Pillars of stone pushed up out of the scree, which was marked with what appeared to be boulder trails. Subtle colors glowed against the deep blue Alpine sky. It was amazing enough to take words away from you. We stood there and suddenly Keith exclaimed, "I get it! Casse means 'broken:' the Broken Desert." After marveling for a while longer, we got back on the bikes. The road snaked downhill for a few more kms, then suddenly came out of the trees into a broad cleared area with a road plunging straight down the south face of the Col. We zoomed through Brunissard looking for Arvieux. Several kms later, two plus two added up and I realized that the name we had for our hosts, the Brunissards, was actually the name of the hamlet that the gite was in. We stopped and Keith went into a bar-tabac to verify. We had to climb a couple of kms back up the hill to La Girandole, our home for two nights.

After a couple of farcical hours getting our rooms arranged, we were set and went out for dinner to a restaurant recommended by our host. It was a little place set out of the way, back from the D902 by several blocks. There were only three tables being served, but then we were quite early for dinner by French standards. The food was wonderful (as it turned out this was a 2 star restaurant)- my own choice being trout- and the cheese plate was magnificent. The hostess was obviously proud of her cheeses and she should have been. Content, we went back to the gite and tucked into bed, after yet some more farcical bedding arrangements caused by trying to deal with reservations in two languages across the Atlantic.

64.16 miles (102.66 km) in 5:57:02.

On to Day 6