Tour of the Alps 2002

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Day 8: 28 June 2002: the nice and the not-so-Nice

This was the day that we were to ride from Jausiers to Nice, estimating from the maps a ride of about 175 km/110 miles or so. From the Haute Alpes to sea level- and from one culture to another- in one ride!

Breakfast at La Mexicaine was a simple affair of bread, butter and jams, and coffee. There had been a power outage in the night, leaving the boulangerie mostly out of commission and the selection of goodies rather limited. This was probably the most typically French and least lavish breakfast we had in the Alps, as a result. Once again I was struck by the French tendency to drink cafe au lait in a bowl in the morning but not the rest of the day.

Kirk and I got the bikes out of the shed behind the gite- Keith's Colnago, Kirk's Trek Y-foil and Judy's custom fillet brazed Serotta were all noticeably lighter than my sturdy Gunnar cyclo-cross bike. Kirk hefted my beast of burden for the first time and politely just commented "oof!" We packed up the car, filled our bidons, paid the bill and were ready to go. The first leg was from Jausiers to Barcelonnette, just a few kilometers down the road. On the road from Jausiers we were passed by a woman on a racing bike. I jumped onto her wheel and Keith jumped on mine, making up a three person paceline. We hadn't ridden fast for any long stretches so far on the trip, and it was fun to wind up the pace a little bit. The woman was obviously a racer and was fast. She turned onto the bypass around downtown Barcelonnette, whereas Keith and I went straight ahead to get some money at a BAP (it took three tries to find one that worked), send mail and buy food. We stopped at a patisserie and stocked up on essential sustenance for the rigors ahead. It wasn't clear from the map where we might be able to buy food between Barcelonnette and Nice- this being France, of course, we needn't have been concerned.

Keith and I tended to ride a bit faster, so we rolled out of town on the D902, following it through Uvernet-Fours where Kirk planned to park the car and ascend the Col de la Cayolle. The road first wound through the Gorges du Bachelard, alongside a raging river filled with milky glacial silt, and then gently climbed through a forest with some small hameaux. It was absolutely delightful, a jewel that had been highly recommended to me by Serge Servadio (thanks, Serge!). We'd never heard of it because it's not used in the Tour de France- the road is too narrow and has not been significantly modernized unlike much of the rest of the Alpine roads we experienced. I suppose its day will come, unfortunately. At Bayasse, the road climbed out of the trees and into a spectacular Alpine landscape- green and bowl shaped, with a lively stream and waterfalls. From the north side, it was sublime- in fact, it was the best climb of the whole trip. We stopped a couple of times just to look around and appreciate the spectacular views of this beautiful mountain. The pass was at 2327 meters- one of our highest cols yet also the easiest.

At the top, Keith (on the left) and I stopped for photos. It was windy and chilly at the summit, the weather being cooler than the previous few days had been (which probably contributed to the climb seeming much easier, as well as being fitter and more acclimated to the task). After about 15 minutes or so, just as we started to think about pushing on, Kirk rode up with Judy close on his heels. We didn't hang around for long, though; Kirk went back down the north side to retrieve the car and Judy, Keith and I pressed on down the hill to Guillestre. The south face of the Cayolle was markedly different from the ascent- arid, sunny and with spectacular rock formations, tunnels, etc.

Partway down the south face I stopped to snap a picture of Keith coming though one of the tunnels. He got quite a bit ahead of me as he was going at a good clip and I chased after him down into Guillaume. I sailed through and out the south end of downtown without seeing him. I stopped, turned around and slowly rode back up the street. There was some kind of sports car rally taking place, with dozens of meticulously cared-for GT race cars from the late 60's and early 70's parked up and down the street. I spotted Keith at an sidewalk cafe and joined him. We sat at a table and as we read the menu, the owner said, in flawless nearly accent-less English, "I speak English too if that helps." Go figure- a guy running a small restaurant in a small town in the Alpes Maritimes speaks the best English I heard come out of any Frenchman. Lunch was cappellini with tomatoes and cheese (Brie rather than Parmesan or another typically salty hard Italian cheese, so it had a unique taste).

We had been served our meals when Judy rolled up to us. She ordered a plate of frites (which were delicious) and then we chatted waiting for Kirk with the car. A lot of time passed and we still didn't see him, and we became quite concerned. We finally decided to ride back up the hill a little, wondering if he had suffered a flat tire or mechanical problem with the car. Even before we were out of town, however, we saw the Renault Scenic trundling down the hill. Relieved, Keith and I topped off our water bottles at the fountain in Guillestre and then went over to the tourist office to discuss route options. Basically, we needed to get to Beuil, where we would take the Gorges du Cians south and then pick up the road to Nice. We didn't get clear instructions, being told that one route was about the same length as the other but unfortunately not being told that one route was much more pleasant and scenic than the other. We chose the wrong route and rode up the D28 (rather than the more pleasant D29) to Valberg.

Unfortunately, my maps didn't indicate that Valberg was actually the COL de Valberg. As a result, we got to grind up the 1672 meter pass in full, hot sun with no shade- right after eating lunch, with no warmup and having sat for 1 1/2 hours. Ouch. Partway up the hill, Kirk and Judy were waiting for me with the car with refills of water- it was a lifesaver. They were waiting at the col as well and snapped the last photo on my roll of film as a souvenir of an unexpected col.

From there it was all downhill. Literally. From Valberg it was downhill to Beuil. Partway down the hill I reflected that I hadn't actually seen a sign that told me I was going in the right direction, and I knew from the maps there were several possible routes out of Valberg. Not wanting to have to re-climb any more of the hill than I had to I stopped to ask directions. I was on the outskirts of Valberg with no open businesses nearby and no one to ask for directions. Finally I notice that there was a man washing out what appeared to be a livestock trailer, and he confirmed I was "sur la route a Beuil." I charged off down the hill, which was really quite enjoyable. In Beuil, I found the car, Kirk and Judy. Keith had decided to drive to Nice as he had to meet his family at the train station at 7:00 PM; Judy opted to ride with him. Kirk and I got our bikes ready and rolled off down to the Gorges du Cians.

The Gorges were highly touted in several books I read about the region, but they started out fairly inauspiciously. After a few kilometers, though, the stone walls kept rising and soon the road was a two lane slot car track winding through an incredible narrow valley- sometimes it was impossible to even see the sky looking up. The speed was pretty high as the road is fairly steep, with many blind turns. The French highway department apparently does not believe in removing too much stone next to the road, so the clearances were actually very tight. I tried to imagine a typical American retiree's outsized motorhome wallowing through the Gorges and it was a frightening thought. The descent was as close to shooting a canyon on whitewater as you can get on a bicycle. We blasted out of the Gorges at the N202 and crossed the Pont du Cians. I looked at Kirk who had a huge grin on his face, and I knew how he felt. "That made up for missing a few descents because of driving," he said. We didn't have time to take photographs of the Gorges, but the Virtual Alps has nice photos and information on the Gorges du Cians.

We turned left on the N202 towards Nice. It was obvious from the maps that we'd end up on a major road, but unfortunately it wasn't clear what the reality would actually be. Initially, the N202 was a pleasant road with a gentle downhill grade and a side- to tailwind. Kirk and I made excellent time, easily riding well over 20-25 mph for miles at a time thanks to the grade and the wind. As we got near Nice, looking at the maps wasn't all that helpful as the roads all sort of blobbed into one. Basically, we ended up riding on a busy superhighway into Nice for the last 30 or more kilometers. It was quite a shock to the system after the serenity of the Alps.

From the map, it looked like we could get off the N202 and ride down the D1/D2209/D95, crossing the Var River. We even tried once, only to waste about half an hour as it seemed as though everything was stacked against us and some sadistic highway planner had decided to force bicyclists to ride with a flood of cars going 90 km/h. With the wind and the grade, we were able to sustain 24 mph quite consistently, drafting each other into Nice. Finally, sick and tired of it, in the shadow of the A8 we tried to turn off onto a street that looked like it was going into downtown Nice. I spotted a police station and went in to ask directions. With much gesticulation, the gendarme sent us blithely back out onto the highway, telling us to go under the bridge, turn left and ride for 4 km until we saw the exit for the Promenade des Anglais; then we were to turn left again and follow the Promenade past the airport and towards the roads into the heart of Nice.

The crowding, pace, noise and pollution were shocking after 8 days of cycling through the Alps. For the life of me, I couldn't imagine what pro cyclists find so alluring about Nice- it seemed like a horrible place to try to ride a bike. We stopped at the tourist office to try to get directions to our hotels. Kirk, Judy and Keith and his family were staying at the Novatel and I was staying at the Hotel Amaryllis. We were assured there would be signs for the Novatel, but we weren't seeing any and, mainly to try to get away from the horrible traffic, we turned up the Boulevard Gambetta. Riding up a number of blocks through what looked to be a surprisingly squalid town, it eventually became clear we'd probably gone too far. We stopped at a sidewalk cafe to ask directions, and were given mercifully clear and simple directions to the rue Alsace Lorraine. Without much further ado, we found the Hotel Amaryllis.

I got checked in and Kirk got directions to the Novatel. He volunteered to ride over to the Novatel and see what had become of my luggage, while I got my room sorted out. The desk clerk, who spoke excellent English, helped my put my bike in secure storage and seemed to think nothing of having our bikes in the lobby. Not long after, the heroic Kirk turned up with my saddlebag- having ridden back from the Novatel rather than driving. He promised to drop off my bike case the next day, and we parted company.

I took a shower, unpacked, changed into street clothes and then got some food at an artisan patisserie across the street from the Hotel Amaryllis and an excellent kebab from a street cafe. The street life in Nice was very vibrant and crowded, radically different from what I was accustomed to in the Alps. The sidewalk bars were full to overflowing with people watching the World Cup finals, which added to the din. Sensory overload was happening. I retired to my room and pondered my immediate future, with two more days in Nice before going back to Paris. In air-conditioned comfort and blissful silence, I drifted off to sleep.

108.98 miles (174 km) in 7:59:37.

On to Day 9