Col du Lauteret and Col du Galibier and a crash

Recovery after Croix de Fer was rehydrating, sitting and watching episode ten of Game of Thrones, got a bit teary during it. Had a whiskey as well afterwards. Life is about balance.

We wandered into town and checked out a creperie. I order a salad nicoise and pasta carbonara and Mousse chocolat. Totally delicious, I am scraping the plate. This is bookended by Ricard pastis and maison vin rouge ordinaire.

In "The Rider" by Tim Krabbe, there is a moment when a coach tells our protagonist that "alkool coup des jambs". More on this later.

Sleep had better come now...but it doesn't. It is a warm evening, the house is stuffy so I open the windows and let the noise in from the 24hr servo. I watch episode five of Top Gear - what a pile of merde - the BBC must be loading the shotgun to put this cur out of misery. Sleep.

Wake and with a strange notion I decide to continue to fuel the body with weetabix, banana, coffee, and consider more food stuffs. This climbing business burns energy. Now we are considering second breakfast - the infuence of the Hobbit.

Despite having lots of tech in the Garmin GPS, when I am climbing I am only thinking of riding within myself, I do NOT want to see my heart rate, only to ride by feel. I watch the gradient and then use the GPS to confirm my assessment, anything over 8% and I go straight to the 29 tooth, regardless of the distance covered, or the distance to go. I break this up by changing to the 26 tooth and standing for a while, this takes some pressure off my back and uses other leg muscles. Changing hand position helps too.

Climbing I get to spend a lot of time by myself as the group inevitably sorts itself depending on how each Poseur is feeling; I am rarely at the front. I occasionally see a wheel up ahead but resist to urge to chase on. I disappear into my thoughts, meditating on the day, where we will be next week, what hills are we looking for, marvelling at the patience of French drivers, enjoying the scenery, occasionally stopping and taking it all in, and discussing when we regroup.

This morning my legs are feeling tired, and I have the beginnings of a sore throat. Niggles but fully intend to ride the Lauteret and Galibier.  We are going to drive to La Grave and then ride up.

So we have second breakfast.

Pain et croissant et cafe. Suit up and into the big van, six bikes six blokes, drive to Le Grave. Bikes assembled, local trees given extra nutrient, click in and roll. I roll off the front enjoying the gradient. Hear a call, there's a puncture. Wait. Roll and Supermodel takes off of the front.

While I wait

Meadows and massif

Later the Hobbit gets on my wheel for two seconds, I pull to the side, tell him to grab someone else's wheel and then I grab his wheel. He eventually pulls away, my legs are cut.

Above 1800m I begin panting. Surely not? Keep going up to the Col du Lauteret. A mountain pass, some nondescript buildings, a fresh wind from the south, lycra and motorbikes and a Renault Car Club rally.

Turn onto the Galibier road, and I am straight into the 29 tooth. Not even a chance of the 26t even with the gradient at 5%. I've got nuthin

Where's Buble Boy?

We are well above the tree line, which doesnt stop the Renault Alpine's screaming past as I do 8kmh. I can see ice below me and ice above. I am not in any pain from anywhere in my body and my heart rate is reasonably high, I just can't do anything.  No power, no smile, nowhere to go but up. I stop. Photos are easy, I've gone too deep. Kransky stops with me.

Pedal. Nearing the top and I can see it high above me, see my mates tapping away.

I can't think. I want to sleep. A cup of sweet tea. I buy a hat. The shopkeep wants to pitch a jersey and knicks. I rest. Everyone is tired. All we have to do now is roll downhill back to the van. Its a good descent, if a bit bumpy. I have turned the Garmin onto the map page and can see the turns approaching, the jacket is keeping me warm. I love this, but the real descent is to come back La Grave.

At La Grave about to set off

Frodo, Buble Boy SuperModel and I click and gently roll downhill. The weather and conditions are gorgeous. We drove into Bourg from Milan on the road, so while not 'knowing it' we are familiar with it. The GPS tells me the way ahead. No pedalling, just rolling sweeping kilometres away.



I glance back as I have a long gap back to SuperModel and the others, sweep right through a hairpin into Le Frenay D'Oisans. Roll into town, slow, slow, pedal gently, for a kilometre or so, and climb through a tunnel and wait.

Fifteen minutes later the van comes by with Kransky and OGF and Frodo! He has crashed on that right hander. He looks white. In good hands they go. With BB and SM we roll downhill into a headwind.

Sobered and frightened by this event.

Now back at the house, I view the crash, caught on Buble Boy's rear facing camera. A rear lockup and high side, landing on the left shoulder. Clinic, Docteur, then drive to Allemont for an X-Ray and a break is confirmed. Maybe Grenoble for treatment. Merde. Frodo is OK, bones heal. But it has shaken us up a bit and we feel a long way from home.

The van and boys have arrived. Broken clavicle and a trip home. Merde.

Monday Night and Tuesday to Col de la Croix de Fer

The twilight and daylight saving is playing tricks on me. 7pm feels like 4pm, which plays havoc in getting ready to wander into town to get dinner. Well for me anyway.

We wander, we find a restaurant with a wide selection of meatatarian meals, OberGruppenFuhrer has one available choice, a pizza. SuperModel and myself had a hamburger with reblochon cheese each. Delish! Frodo gets magret in huckleberry sauce (duck breast), Kransky a poulat dish, OGF a sicilian pizza, and Buble Boy a lamb shank or was it a magret? Who knows, he wolfed it down. These meals were washed down with a couple of glasses of Vin de patron/house wine, inoffensive soft red. 125 euros

Buble Boy fancies a kebab, we wander on to sip an digestif, a local concoction called ginepi, made from a herb that grows above 3000m.

The local bar has Australian marginalia on the walls, we watch Iceland thump Angleterre. Joshing abounds.And blessed sleep.

The Col de Croiz de Fer - the cross of iron calls to us today, another 2000m day. Been blessed with fine weather, the rest of France sits under cloud.

And it is a fine day, blue skies greet us and cool air, but with the climbing we are expecting, I do not anticipate being cold.

A quick drag down the Romanche valley and the right turn into the valley up to the first dam wall, and then basically 22 kilometres up, one down bit, some 14% pinches, and a few regroups.

None of us are feeling particularly fresh, but we persist.

We go left from here and into that valley ahead, cross the river and up up up

Climbing, low speeds and survival and energy conservation are key.

Here is the link to my ride.

And a map and profile.

We climb to the upper reservoir and regroup. Supermodel is struggling with hunger flat. 6 kilometres is not that far but its still another 300+ metres of climbing. I'm not feeling great but I know I will complete the climb. Kransky is nursing an angry knee. OberGruppenFuhrer is perky. Infuriating. Buble Boy is riding like a demon. Frodo is riding within himself as am I.

Final push. Past the left hand turn for the Col du Glandon we spin up to the pass at 2080 something metres. I am suffering from sweating so much, electrolyte drink gone, banana eaten, water bottle half full.

Encouraged by OberGruppenFuhrer as he passes me in the final kilometre, he is standing there taking photos at the last push.

Wind blowing we retreat into the small cafe on the pass.

Omelettes and a berry tart each are hoovered down with cafe. Just cyclists and the odd motorbike rider. The carpark has a couple of camping cars setting up to enjoy the view.

Smiling in anticipation of food

No-one is in a huge hurry to move, but we do, arm warmers are donned by some, gilets (wind breakers) by all. We roll, regroup, roll, a nasty 12% section and then regroup and roll downhill again for a lovely bit of 1% false flat with a tailwind into town. SuperModel and I take turns until I gently pop off his wheel, recover and get back on at 40kmh. Roll through Bourg to the house. Done.

Everyone is spent.

We are together

OberGruppenFuhrer has arrived in his fully absolved state.  After riding a touring bike to Santiago di Compostela for the Camino pilgrimage he has arrived with all past sins forgiven and his way to the sacred heart of Jesus paved with a million virgins etc etc.
Anyway, don't fly Easyjet.
Grenoble was shut on Sunday afternoon and the locals were busy setting of firecrackers and doing burnouts down the central boulevarde. We went up a cable car and sat in a perspex ball to get to a fortress overlooking the city.

Had a beer had a few laughs jumped another descending ball then walked back to the Gare Central and there he is; a holy glow surmounting his radiant dome.

Note the CERN nuclear research facility

Supermodel drove us back into Bourg D'Oisins, but I was very busy watching Frodo in case he lunged at an errant limb he was so hangry.

A calzone for mine, pizzas, lasagne, couple of veal escallopes and a couple of bottles of Les Faggottes. The waitress had not opened a bottle with a cork before, so we gave her extra practice.

Good nights sleep. Woke at 5am, immediately searched for Game Of Thrones torrents, found it for episode ten and watched it barrel down the intertubes at a massive rate that if replicated in Australia might re-elect #TurnbullMalcolm by a landslide. He might get back anyhow, so that makes him cleverer than me.

Ride was back up Alpe D'Huez again in honour of Supermodel. His day didnt go so well, first incline he mashed the chain into the spokes and locked it tight. He had to walk the 2km back to a bike mechanic in town to have it fixed and then after a wait he spun to the top.

It was a much cooler day and I knew what to expect with the gradient, the corners, the views and the clear skies, cool air and the beginnings of climbing legs meant I got to the top nine minutes quicker than Saturday. We waited for Paul to arrive with a round of noisettes (macchiatos) and I bought a t-shirt, and got some good ride advice.

Everyone was feeling better about the climb and we then headed east to the Col de Sarenne at 2000m. A wondrous scenery, so seemingly far from the ugliness of Alpe D'Huez and Grenoble.

There was some serious descending to do, only unclipped for one corner when I saw gravel on my line as I entered too hot. As we rode on we came to Clavans le Bas, I think Kransky Klown stopped when he saw the sign for an Auberge doing lunches. One item on the food menu, omelettes, its 14.30 and Frodo is hangry again. Out they came, delicious mounds of egg, roast potato, cheese and jambon. Washed down with Perrier. Got some good advice from a friendly Dane "The climb along the D211a is 8%, watch a couple of corners, nice views"

Heart pounding descents, hot wheels from constant braking and we have our first puncture, possibly from heat, maybe from gravel. Then we turn at the D221a, 8% my arse. Its a constant 10-12% grind, thankfully with shade on some sections, its getting warmer, I force water down, but I'm feeling ok.

Then we start levelling off, then a bit of gentle descending, then this opens up in front of us to the sound of an eagle scree-ing.

Descending on gravel strewn roads with a precipitous drop isn't popular among us and I'm gingerly picking my way through the drifts.

Then all of a sudden we're smashing down Alpe D'Huez again.
Now we are off to dinner somewhere.

House of Dracula

Sunday. Clouds on the mountain tops caressing the rocks and revealing a promising blue sky between the wisps. A good day for a ride.
After much faffing. We are off being completely mislead by our garmins.
Turn around and start again and we are rolling down the valley warming up. Some lovely D road magic and dams, descents rolling into a climb of indeterminate length.
We stumble along a sportive ride route and keep climbing at our own pace. I think most of us were riding solo for most of it.  Just some magic stuff.