I set off for this year's Stella Alpina rallye as a party of 1. Despite some initial interest from the xrv.org.uk crowd, as departure approached the numbers dwindled. As it happened I arrived at Dover to join the queue behind John on his TransAlp. Then one last Whopper meal delayed my boarding of the boat, so I ended up at the wrong end of the boat with the coaches.
The weather in France was even more miserable than in England, so John and I set off down the autoroute in alternating drizzle and downpour. Navigating to Arques was simple enough, but the hotel wasn't quite where the website said it was going to be, so we recruited some locals in a bar to lead us to our beds. By 1am I was out like a light.
Saturday morning dawned a little later for me, as I hadn't adjusted my alarm to French time. So our planned early start turned into a leisurely departure. Further frustration then ensued at the petrol station, which wouldn't take non-French credit cards, and wasn't even open anyway. Eventually with tanks brimmed we set off south in search of mountains.
It's about here I'd like to talk about fantastic scenery bathed in glorious sunshine as we whizzed along perfect roads to the Alps. But I can't. The weather was variably cr*p, and the scenery was flat and boring. The only respite was that we didn't get to look at it for very long at one go, as we had to keep stopping every 100 miles to refuel the TransAlp. Something about cruising at 85mph didn't agree with the 'little' bike. I was going to propose that I refuel every other petrol stop, but sensing John's disappointment I kept my mouth shut.
And so after all day on the straight and narrow we arrived at the end of the autoroute, at a town called Modane. With untypical foresight I'd bought a good map of the area, and with the Frejus tunnel closed I looked for an alternative route. The map showed a track skirting over the mountains to Bardonecchia, saving a huge road detour over Mount Cenis to the east.
We turned off the road and headed up a twisty road into the forest. I remember thinking that if the track continued like this we'd be in Bardonecchia for last orders. How wrong could I be? Well after riding through a ski resort, and after leaving a hamlet in our wake, the snow line loomed. Then the jeep track turned into a goat track. And that drink was going to have to wait. Sensing that the adventure was about to begin, we pitched camp at 2321 metres in the Valfrejus.
With ice forming on the outside of the tents, John cooked up a tasty dinner, and we philosophised about the view in the morning. Which happened to be pretty damn good!
We took the mandatory portraits, then headed back down the mountain to Modane and the detour via Mount Cenis. The rain increased from a drizzle, to a steady downpour, to zero visibility cloud cover. The road itself would have been a rollercoaster ride in the dry, but by the time we pulled up at a cafe in Susa (Italy!) we just wanted the briefest glimpse of sunshine.
A short ride up the autostrada, at the other end of the closed Frejus tunnel, was that good weather, and Bardonecchia. Wanting to press on and tackle the mountain we headed up the single track road leading to the Rifugio Scarfiotti where the Stella really begins. A gazebo beside a cluster of bikes marked 'signing on', and after chatting with a few other Brits (trying to find out if the top was accessible, or whether mountain rescue were going to be necessary) we pushed on up the dirt track.
Initially the track was hardpack dirt, easy enough to ride on, and not broken up yet by the passage of knobblie tyres. From the start there were many hairpin bends, each one with a reasonably wide runout area, but pretty steep. I'd approach in first gear, stick a foot out, and try and use any little rut as a berm. I didn't take any photos at this point, as I was focussing on the riding and not dropping the bike.
After an uncountable number of hairpins the mountain flattened out, and the snow line faded in. A few bigger road bikes were turning around, but we pressed on.
Then the hairpins started again. We were still low enough that the track wasn't completely covered in snow, other bikes having cleared a path for us.
At each hairpin a group would congregate as they tried to assess their chances of making it to the next hairpin.
John had been riding heroically, considering the TransAlp wasn't coping with the altitude, slick tyres aren't best for snow covered ground, and this was pretty much his first time riding the TransAlp off-road. After a few tumbles he decided he'd surpassed his personal goals for the mountain, and pulled over.
John, I take my hat off to you. Well done, have a smoke to celebrate!
I used the opportunity to ditch my panniers, shed a little weight, and see if I could press on a little further. (Really, with knobblie tyres on a more off-road oriented bike, I felt the need to best the TransAlp by at least a token margin!) Halfway to the next hairpin I was doubting my judgement as both ends of the bike would head off in different directions simultaneously. I then caught up with a Frenchman on a KTM950, which spurred me on to try for the next hairpin.
I then had a "moment" which ended up with the bike lying on it's side, wheels hanging off the side of the track in the air. Looking around there was no-one to help me pick the bike up, so I dragged it back from the edge and righted it myself, using up pretty much any energy I had left. By now the track wasn't. There were two or three wheel tracks through the snow, with only the odd rock showing through. I adopted a 1st gear, legs out, paddling technique, and continued the ascent.
With 2978 metres showing on the GPS I came to a snowbank, where 2 motocross bikes and riders stood looking at the Col, visible through the cloud. I collapsed in the snow and regained my breath, savouring the falling snow. This was my personal summit; the bike and I weren't going any higher today.
This is the face of a man who hasn't realised yet that he has to ride back down that snow covered path!
I rejoined John, only 2 hairpins down from the top of the mountain. We must have been some of the first to attempt the mountain that morning, as the bikes continued to come. As you can see, by now the passage of bike tyres had made the riding vastly easier. I stopped this likely fellow on an Africa Twin, but he seemed pretty focussed on the riding, so didn't stop for a chat.
As it happens, Rob spotted us back at the organisers gazebo and came over for a chat. T-shirts bought, backs slapped, all that remained was to get a Team XRV photo done, and find a pizzeria to toast our triumphs!
John departed for the UK after a filling pizza and beer, but I had the rest of the week off work, and more riding that day seemed like way too much effort. So I booked into the Hotel Sommeiller, which was cheap (good thing) but full of BMW riding geordies (bad thing). Monday morning dawned bright and sunny.
Still having forgotten to put my alarm clock forward I was lucky to catch up with Rob and Angela before they skipped town. From the www.advrider.com website I'd blagged a couple of gravel routes around the nearby mountains from an Alpine veteran. So we set off to Sestriere and beyond.
Words and my photos cannot accurately describe the riding in this part of the world. Wherever you ride in the UK I guarantee you will not get a backdrop like this...
The track varied from hard pack dirt to gravel to stoney. After a warm-up period I started to get into the zone, and found myself getting comfortable in fourth gear. The photo stops were a good opportunity to have a reality check, and slow down a bit. Mostly there was nothing at all between you and a very very long fall. Occaisionally they'd put out some bollards at the side of the road. Like that's gonna stop 250kg of sliding bike!
Again I doff my hat to Rob, riding fully loaded with pillion, and doing a great job. Every so often I'd drop the hammer and try and get ahead by enough to take some action photos. Invariably he'd turn up before I was really ready to shoot.
After about 50km of views like this...
...we came to the Colle Finestre. The ascent to the Colle had been tarmaced for a bicycle race, so was a tiny ribbon of new unbroken joy! Hairpin after sweeping bend after hairpin after sweeping bend of ultra-grippy jet-black macadam. And at the Colle itself, this was the view down the other side,
(By the way, if you don't get serious wood looking at that photo, sell the bike, put on your slippers, go out to the garden shed and top yourself. There is no hope for you.)
We had a chat with another group of Brits that were riding the same route as us, in reverse. All were riding Honda bikes with TKC80 tyres, and very enthusiastic about the choice. We set off down into hairpin-gravel heaven.
I don't have any photos from the descent, because to be honest I was just having too much fun to pull over. Many many bends later the track comes out of the forest at the town of Susa. We pulled up in a small square, had a choice of eateries, selected the one with outdoor seating, and tucked into more great Italian food. As we pored over maps Rob pointed up at the mountains. Huge black clouds were storming in from the direction we were hoping to ride for the rest of the day. As the first spots of rain started to fall we decided to split company, me to the west, and Rob and Angela to the north. And there ended the xrv.org.uk assault on the Stella Alpina rallye for 2005.
As the rain started to come down heavily I headed over the mountains to the west, and to Briancon. I figured the weather couldn't be any worse, and it was roughly the right direction. Well the weather got worse, and I couldn't face pitching my tent in the rain. So I decided to keep riding towards the Gorges du Verdon until the sun came out, and then find a campsite. I spend the rest of the day riding through lightening storms that I swear were following me south. In reality I was riding along the edge of the Alps, and the storms were partially generated by the mountains. Eventually I arrived in Castellane, on the river Verdon. I walked into the first hotel I found in the town square, and ended up with an en-suite room for only 31 euro. Bargain.
Castellane is a little old place, with narrow cobbled alleyways, a leafy central square, very quaint and very French. It sits underneath the most enormous lump of rock, with a tiny chapel built on top. But for all it's quaintness Castellane is more known as the adventure/adrenalin sports centre of the region. A stone's throw from the square people are paying good money to be tied to an inflatable boat and sent off to get drenched and quite possibly injured on the rapids.
From Castellane the road heads off to the west and rejoins the river as it enters the start of the Gorge. The road is just bend after bend of smooth tarmac. On one side the cliffs tower above you, while on the other it drops straight down to the river. Every so often they've had to chip into the rock to make enough room for the road, producing stunning overhangs.
The road then departs the river and climbs up and up. It pretty much has to, as the Gorge narrows, and the road then runs along the very top of the cliffs.
Hunt out the Route des Cretes, which is a loop on the northern side of the Gorges. It's one of those roads you should ride twice. Once to keep stopping for the views. Once to actually ride it. Bear in mind a small section is one-way only, so ride it clockwise.
At the far end of the Gorges is a man-made lake. Here you can rent pedalos, boats, canoes, etc. and paddle up the Gorges. More importantly there's a bridge, so you can cross to the south side, and ride there as well!!
There seems to be more civilisation on the south side of the Gorges, with plenty of single street villages complete with al fresco restaurants. Be warned that they exploit the tourists as far as they can. Try £2 for a small cola. Don't even ask about the very mediocre pizza.
As I completed the loop of the Gorges I have to admit that it actually lived up to the hype. The Rough Guide describes it as Europe's answer to the Grand Canyon. It's not that. But it is worth visiting. Consider that it's almost as deep in places as somewhere like Snowdon is tall. And you can stand at the edge without a guardrail!
After leaving the Gorges du Verdon I headed north west, towards the Loire. An uncle and aunt of mine have recently relocated to the Loire valley to sample the good life, and run a few gites. I promised I'd drop in on them, and quite frankly the idea of lounging by a pool and drinking wine seemed too good to pass on.
The great thing about riding through France is the diversity. I rode through the Ardeche, which is wall to wall twisty roads. Then as you near the Loire the land becomes as flat as you like, with fields that stretch off to the horizon. But you'll come around a corner and out of the blue there will be this,
The Loire itself is dotted with old chateau, tree lined villages, and vineyards.
My uncle's place is in a quiet village a few kilometres from Saumur. The village has a couple of working windmills, thirty-odd vineyards, a cafe... and that's about it.
I arrived just in time for Bastille day, during which the country basically closes down. So with the temperatures in the mid-30s there was nothing else to do but bask, drink, and, later on, take in the sunset.
Unfortunately my holiday was coming to a close, so it was time to hit the autoroute again and head back to Calais and my ferry home.
All in all 2500 miles had rolled past under my wheels in the 7 days I had been away from the UK. All of the places I had been to have characteristics I can recommend. The Alps have some of the most spectacular scenery to act as a backdrop. And if you're after either gravel roads or hairpin bends (or even both!) then I think you'd be hard pressed to beat the Alps. The Gorges du Verdon also offer great scenery, but looking down rather than up. If the roads don't pump enough adrenalin through your arteries, then the Gorges offer more than enough options to overdose a hardened junkie. And finally the Loire region caters for that laid back, take in the architecture, sample the local wines, people watch from an outdoor cafe crowd.
One thing I can say for sure is... I'll be back for next year's Stella Alpina!
