Today’s ride: 93km, 2493m elevation
Total so far: 1003km, 11248m elevation
Rest day in Briançon was magnificent. I got the broken spokes fixed on the bike by the friendly team at Giant, we had a good breakfast and explored the old city, serviced the bikes, and finished the day with big lumps of steak at a family-run Italian restaurant. Refreshed, we were ready to leave at 7am on day eight, prepared for the climb uptake 2360m Col d’Izoard.
The climb starts before you’ve even left town. It is an absolutely wonderful climb, rising slowly at first through small villages that open up into the most perfect Alpine views: old glacial valleys, coniferous woodland and ever-more precipitous rocks. The first 15km or so is taken at a fairly steady gradient of around 5%, with some sections being flat and even downhill, before it steepens in the last five kilometres or so. I loved every minute of Col d’Izoard and it was my favourite of all the Alpine climbs.
The descent from Izoard was no less spectacular, with the terrain resembling more the volcanic landscapes of the Canary Islands than the Alps as you enter La Casse Déserte. The rocks are actually dolomitic limestone which has been eroded into these wonderful shapes by the action of gypsum diluted in rain and meltwater. Fascinating geologically and stunning to look at.
After the descent we initially flew along, until Graeme got a puncture in the Combe de Quayras; I had the only spare tube and was about 3km ahead when I got the message that he had had to stop, and had to ride all the way back up to him. Then as we left our lunch stop in Guillestre we witnessed an accident where a car pulled out in front of a cyclist, causing him to swerve and fall off his bike, injuring his arm, leg and pelvis in the process. We were first on the scene and my micro first aid kit got a use, but even when the emergency services arrived we had to stay on as I was a witness to the accident. I hope the gent was ok: it was a horrible accident and I suspect he had badly damaged his pelvis. He was put on a stretcher and taken away, and with a new sense of perspective we quite set off for the last climb.
It was by now mid-afternoon and it was hot. No time for heroics – we were in for a long, sensible ride. We took advantage of every scrap of shelter we found on the Col de Vars and this made progress slow, especially on the earlier, steeper sections. After about eight kilometres the gradient flattens out a bit and there are regular foundations as you get into the villages, and progress became easier. Above the village of Vars itself is the ski resort of Vars Les Claux, which was an odd experience to ride through; almost empty apart from a few bars and hotels having summer refits. Above the resort is quite a pretty little lake with attendance refuge and the col just above, but it’s not far enough away for you to quite forget about the oddness of the resort. Still, it was another pass ticked off, any 2109m no less, and from here it was downhill all the way to Barcelonette.
This was my cue to get on the pedals, and I took us on a fast descent towards Barcelonette, our chosen stop for the night 31km away. It was already 6pm and I was worried that we might be left without food or campsite so I powered along and hoped Graeme could keep my wheel. We whizzed down through St-Paul-sur-Ubaye, where two tentative options didn’t;t seem to exist, and hared out onto the D900. By 6.45pm we had reached Jausiers and passed a big CAMPING sign by the roadside. I slowed, thinking ‘but there’s surely no food’ only to immediately pass. by a Proxi supermarket… and was that a fête being set up in the village square? I backtracked to Graeme a couple of hundred metres back up the road, shouted ‘we’re camping here!’
Before we knew it, Graeme was dispatched to the supermarket for dinner, I checked us in and set up camp, and we were all set for a night at the excellent Camping Le Planet. We enjoyed sausages and pasta and a fruity red wine recommended by the shop assistant. The fête was a celebration of French-Italian community friendships and there were stalls set up with produce from both sides of the border, so we found ourselves a set and settled in for an evening watching the locals folk dancing with their Italian neighbours. It was a wonderful evening and I was glad we hadn’t pushed on the last ten kilometres to Barcelonette.