Unlike Dale, I live in an area where anything bigger than an anthill is a big hill. As a result, I get to do hills, not to mention mountains, infrequently, and I had two days in Chalet Serenite to think about what was in front of me. I can't think of a better place to have spent the two days in contemplation. On Monday, we arrived really late at Craig and Sonia's place (literally after they had retired for the evening - thank you guys for being such good hosts) after having had crepes in Evian along the shores of Lake Geneva (great food, but oh, why does it take three hours to have crepes prepared and served?). Next morning, we got to know Craig, a Kiwi who has roamed widely before finding a place to build a B and B, where I could have happily stayed a week just hanging out, chatting, looking up at the mountains and admiring the scenery across the lake. On Tuesday, Dale and I did some bike maintenance; chain cleaning, brake adjustments and the like, and then we went searching for new cleats. I cannot believe how quickly we have been wearing them out: my right cleat was fine, but the left, which is the one I unclip when I stop, was virtually eroded away to nothing - stopping at stop lights between Amsterdam and Evian and driving off again just beat them up. Craig directed us to a store where we found "look" cleats of the right size (our earlier attempts to buy replacements in a little town in eastern France had produced, for me at least, a cleat that was a quarter inch too long, so useless), so we bought two pairs each, and I found new tights (Rudolph Nureyev look-alike is what I now am) to replace a pair that had expanded like exhausted pantihose (or am I losing so many inches that it just seems that way????). The rest of the day we relaxed, and went for a delightful meal at a local hotel.
On Wednesday morning, with much trepidation on my part and enthusiasm on Dale's part, we rode away to tackle a category 1 climb, the Col de C. What an amazing day! We started out with a category 4 and 5 for appetizers, and I must say that they did seem much less intimidating than the categories had done the first time we tackled such hills. But, while the climbs did not intimidate, the descents did, and Dale led me down the mountains, as I used brakes frequently and hard.
And then the climb up Col de C. The first half was okay, 4- 6% grades I'd guess, and it was long rather than really difficult; and we cycled through beautiful little villages. No places where the slope leveled out, just constant climbing. After what seemed like it should be the end of the climb, we even had a mile or so of plateau, when we could push a higher gear, and we allowed ourselves to believe that the summit was just over that next rise - and the next one, and the next one.
Then the slope resumed and this time it seemed just a little steeper. And then it was steeper, and I'd guess that we were climbing at 8% or so. And then we saw the hut signalling the summit of the col, and it seemed so close, but somehow after another fifteen minutes it didn't seem any closer, and then my legs started to get weary, or was it my lungs that refused to pump the necessary blood to my muscles. I looked up, and saw two riders ahead who were walking up the final 400 - 600 yards (or was it infinity?), and my brain said "it's okay to do that, you don't have to be on your bike to make it to the top", and I succumbed. But even walking in cleated bike shoes was difficult, and I seemed to be slowing and slowing - and my bike computer said that I was right. Dale came by me, riding almost as slowly as I was walking, but he pulled ahead in the last quarter mile, and I caught the two walking riders as we reached the summit. One of the two riders/walkers we caught was a British cycling tour guide/trainer, and he was helping a middle-aged (and a little overweight) British female, who was ecstatic about climbing the col. As she reached the top, she was on the phone to a friend in the UK telling her about it.
The view at the top was indescribable; you could see the trail wending steeply down the valley, and we plunged (well, Dale plunged, I half-plunged) into the descent, which seemed to go on an awful long while. Interestingly, I discovered that my legs, so exhausted a few minutes before, felt good, and so we immediately started a category 2 climb, Col d'Avaris. It was long, but the slope was a lot more gentle than those last couple of miles on the Col de C, and we cycled through more interesting and inhabited countryside than at the top of the Col de C, which is deserted. Another descent, and we ran into Gwen and called it a day. Four climbs (4th, 5th, 1st and 2nd) in less than 60 miles seems pretty impressive to me.
Wednesday night saw us staying in perhaps the most commercial/business hotel we've stayed in so far - the Brit Hotel, on the outskirts of Chambery; I wasn't able to detect any signs of Britishness in its decor or operation, but it was a fine place to have some good basic french cuisine while the rain came pouring down in a huge thunderstorm.
Next morning, we resumed our riding with another category 1 and several minor climbs on the agenda. It took Dale and me about 10 miles to realize that our legs didn't have another category 1 in our legs, and we rode about 40 miles before meeting up with Gwen and deciding that Grenoble needed our full attention in the afternoon. A good decision, and Dale treated us to Haagen Daz ice cream and a seat in the square. And then, we set out for Sisteron for a night in a hotel belonging to the Logis company (2,800 hotels in their network, mainly in France and each apparently as distinctive as can be).
Today, we spent our time in Sisteron, examining a quite remarkable city that none of us had ever heard of, yet is a key to much of French history for at least a thousand years. Dominated by Le Citadel, a fortress which has guarded all access to this area, the town is an absolute jewel; it is as if the French have kept its beauty to themselves and not let on to the rest of the world how special it is. The more we saw, the more we realized that it would have been a crime to have passed up the opportunity to have spent the day exploring and enjoying the town's hospitality. And so, we didn't ride today. Any residual guilt that we had not ridden was swept away as we drove the roads of today's stage west and north of our starting point, for it was not a memorable drive - few villages, lots of mountains rising out of the valley along which we would have ridden.
So tomorrow beckons. A day when we have multiple lower category climbs, which we should be able to negotiate, on our way to the Pyrenees. Tonight, a little B and B, very charming, Les Sabots (the wooden clogs), and guarded by a beautiful Akita with white eyes. I just can't go many days without having a dog to stroke and play with. Tomorrow evening, we connect with Fran, and another part of our journey begins.
On Wednesday morning, with much trepidation on my part and enthusiasm on Dale's part, we rode away to tackle a category 1 climb, the Col de C. What an amazing day! We started out with a category 4 and 5 for appetizers, and I must say that they did seem much less intimidating than the categories had done the first time we tackled such hills. But, while the climbs did not intimidate, the descents did, and Dale led me down the mountains, as I used brakes frequently and hard.
And then the climb up Col de C. The first half was okay, 4- 6% grades I'd guess, and it was long rather than really difficult; and we cycled through beautiful little villages. No places where the slope leveled out, just constant climbing. After what seemed like it should be the end of the climb, we even had a mile or so of plateau, when we could push a higher gear, and we allowed ourselves to believe that the summit was just over that next rise - and the next one, and the next one.
Then the slope resumed and this time it seemed just a little steeper. And then it was steeper, and I'd guess that we were climbing at 8% or so. And then we saw the hut signalling the summit of the col, and it seemed so close, but somehow after another fifteen minutes it didn't seem any closer, and then my legs started to get weary, or was it my lungs that refused to pump the necessary blood to my muscles. I looked up, and saw two riders ahead who were walking up the final 400 - 600 yards (or was it infinity?), and my brain said "it's okay to do that, you don't have to be on your bike to make it to the top", and I succumbed. But even walking in cleated bike shoes was difficult, and I seemed to be slowing and slowing - and my bike computer said that I was right. Dale came by me, riding almost as slowly as I was walking, but he pulled ahead in the last quarter mile, and I caught the two walking riders as we reached the summit. One of the two riders/walkers we caught was a British cycling tour guide/trainer, and he was helping a middle-aged (and a little overweight) British female, who was ecstatic about climbing the col. As she reached the top, she was on the phone to a friend in the UK telling her about it.
The view at the top was indescribable; you could see the trail wending steeply down the valley, and we plunged (well, Dale plunged, I half-plunged) into the descent, which seemed to go on an awful long while. Interestingly, I discovered that my legs, so exhausted a few minutes before, felt good, and so we immediately started a category 2 climb, Col d'Avaris. It was long, but the slope was a lot more gentle than those last couple of miles on the Col de C, and we cycled through more interesting and inhabited countryside than at the top of the Col de C, which is deserted. Another descent, and we ran into Gwen and called it a day. Four climbs (4th, 5th, 1st and 2nd) in less than 60 miles seems pretty impressive to me.
Wednesday night saw us staying in perhaps the most commercial/business hotel we've stayed in so far - the Brit Hotel, on the outskirts of Chambery; I wasn't able to detect any signs of Britishness in its decor or operation, but it was a fine place to have some good basic french cuisine while the rain came pouring down in a huge thunderstorm.
Next morning, we resumed our riding with another category 1 and several minor climbs on the agenda. It took Dale and me about 10 miles to realize that our legs didn't have another category 1 in our legs, and we rode about 40 miles before meeting up with Gwen and deciding that Grenoble needed our full attention in the afternoon. A good decision, and Dale treated us to Haagen Daz ice cream and a seat in the square. And then, we set out for Sisteron for a night in a hotel belonging to the Logis company (2,800 hotels in their network, mainly in France and each apparently as distinctive as can be).
Today, we spent our time in Sisteron, examining a quite remarkable city that none of us had ever heard of, yet is a key to much of French history for at least a thousand years. Dominated by Le Citadel, a fortress which has guarded all access to this area, the town is an absolute jewel; it is as if the French have kept its beauty to themselves and not let on to the rest of the world how special it is. The more we saw, the more we realized that it would have been a crime to have passed up the opportunity to have spent the day exploring and enjoying the town's hospitality. And so, we didn't ride today. Any residual guilt that we had not ridden was swept away as we drove the roads of today's stage west and north of our starting point, for it was not a memorable drive - few villages, lots of mountains rising out of the valley along which we would have ridden.
So tomorrow beckons. A day when we have multiple lower category climbs, which we should be able to negotiate, on our way to the Pyrenees. Tonight, a little B and B, very charming, Les Sabots (the wooden clogs), and guarded by a beautiful Akita with white eyes. I just can't go many days without having a dog to stroke and play with. Tomorrow evening, we connect with Fran, and another part of our journey begins.
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