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.