The French Alps ride - full report

Day one: Tuesday 8 August 2006 

I left Little Melton at approximately 4pm and walked to the nearest bus stop in neighouring village Hethersett with my fully loaded bike case.

The bus arrived at about 5.10pm, despite them being scheduled to arrive every 15 minutes during regular hours.  I was just about to wonder whether I'd get to Norwich train station on time; the train I needed to catch departed at 5.54pm.  I arrived at the train station at approximately 5.40pm, where it was not possible to immediately board my train; cleaners were clearing out rubbish from the carriages.

Upon arrival at Stansted airport (at about 8pm), I found a place where I could sit down with my bike case, fully aware that my flight to Grenoble airport would not leave until 8.40am the following day.  I had decided weeks before that it was necessary to travel the prior evening as no trains operated from Norwich to the airport so early on flight day.

Day two: Wednesday 9 August 2006

Remarkably, I managed to stay awake until about 4am.  I wheeled the bike case to what I thought was the checking-in point for Ryanair, only to be told several hours later that I needed to go to a different part of the airport.  I did get 3 hours sleep though.

The checking-in process was swift and I encountered no problems whatsoever between then and the arrival at Grenoble airport.

I arrived on French soil with a bump (literally) approximately two and a half hours later; the aircraft landed very roughly and fast.  Everyone gasped as the plane shot forward after landing.  I was not sure what other passengers thought but there was a feeling inside as if the Ryanair jet wasn't going to stop.  The plane's brakes were slammed on though and within five minutes of the pilot steering his craft towards the airport, I was ready to exit and head towards check-in.

I presented my passport to the border officer and then patiently waited for my bike case to appear.  About 5 minutes later, I was ready to leave the airport.  Within minutes, I looked for somewhere safe to leave my bike case; later today I had plans to assemble the bike and change clothing etc. and ride from the airport to Bourg d'Oisans.  I was told the approximate distance to ride was 110 kilometres.

After a few moments of searching, I came across a police station which was situated very close to the airport.  Using my very good spoken French, I managed to get an agreement from an officer that they would look after the bike case until Sunday 13 August.

Within a couple of hours, I had assembled my bike, ready for the ride which would take me to the centre of the Alps.  All I needed to do was pump up the tyres, get changed and I could then say my goodbyes and depart.  I pumped the front tyre first, trying to get as close to a pressure of 110 psi as possible.  With the built-in pressure gauge saying 70/80, I heard a really loud pssssssss.  I looked down and half of the valve length had snapped, rendering the inner tube useless.  I was confident that there was a replacement readily available in the case; prior to leaving England, I drew up a check list of items and recalled that inner tubes were ticked off.  To my dismay, there were none packed.  I also noticed when assembling the bike that two metal pull down buckles on the bike case were bent, presumably where baggage handlers had proped the case horizontally with the weight of other luggage bearing down on it.

Fortunately, a local resident who works as a firefighter in the airport advised that a supermarket in St Etienne St Geoirs (about 4km away) may sell them.  With no public transport available, the only option was an 8km round trip on foot.  The same guy insisted that I accept a lift in his car.  Thankfully this saved a lot of time and further misery.  I arrived back, jokingly wondering whether anything else will happen today.  Luckily, this proved to be the last incident for today.....

At about 3.30pm, the bike was fully assembled, complete with a 4 Euro inner tube (about £2.50).  I had already planned to take a steady transitional ride to Bourg d'Oisans.  I could not be certain I'd arrive there before dark, bearing in mind there was a possibility of missing a turn and finding myself lost.

I therefore decided to stay overnight in Grenoble St Geoirs.  The firefighter kindly agreed that I could sleep overnight at the airport in terminal C.  My bike and case remained with the airport Police under lock and key under arrest in the solitary cell.  One criticism I did have with a 'gendarmiere' called Didier was the very rough handling of my property.  At times, I wasn't sure whether my items were under arrest!  Obviously at the same time I was and remain extremely grateful for their co-operation and assistance.

Day three: Thursday 10 August 2006

Refreshed from a decent night's sleep, I woke and trudged over to the Police station and collected my bike.  I changed into cycling apparel, leaving all unwanted items inside the bike case.  The case was then padlocked in four places.  Last minute adjustaments to the handlebar stem and headset bearings were made before leaving for Bourg d'Oisans at approximately 11am.  A silver plastic bag containing food for tomorrow's long effort in the Alps accompanied me.

During the 72 mile ride, I took in some breathtaking, spectacular scenery, expecting more to follow in the days to come.  During this ride, I entered the Alps for the very first time and my legs soon found they were being introduced to long gradients.

In the early evening, I arrived at Bourg d'Oisans and found that most cycling shops were still open with masses of cyclists converging and looking very worse for wear, presumably from their efforts on the nearby Alpe d'Huez mountain.  There were cyclists from lots of different countries including Estonia, Holland, Belgium, Germany and Spain.

Finding somewhere to sleep was very much an immediate priority, but before this I tried two very low fat home made ice creams; pear and lemon in one and fruits of the forest in the other.

At about 10pm, I approached a local resturanteur, Jean Louis Menant.  Again my spoken French proved to be of a sufficient standard with countless French citizens complimenting the fluency with which I spoke their language.  Having not studied French for 16 years, I found that sometimes I forgot particular words but stringing sentences together rarely became a problem.

I didn't require a bed, just somewhere safe to sleep.  I was given a thin matress and duvet.  A place was set up for me at the rear of his restuarant, with my bike close by.  My mobile phone acted as an alarm clock.  It was very important to wake up as early as possible; the earlier I woke up the earlier I could consume the food, which would mean my body would have longer to digest all the nutrients.  Of course, I could then leave earlier.

Unfortunately, my mobile phone was still set for UK time (one hour behind), so I lost an hour before the ride started.  I also found it incredibly difficault to eat a vast quantity of food as fast as possible.  A calculation made before the ride revealed that my body would need at least 8,000 calories.  Eventually, I consumed most of the food and left Bourg d'Oisans with most jumbo sized Snak-a-Jacks and some jelly babies packed on top of the rice cakes.  I carried these items on the handlebar knowing that I still had full control of the bike.

I departed Bourg d'Oisans at 8.50am French time and said my goodbyes to Jean Louis and his staff who also reside at the restuarant.  Most are of Chinese origin, with a Frenchman named Samuel and a girl from Turkmenistan called Liza being the other two workers.

After passing the village of Rochetailee, I turned right towards the first mountain - Col de la Croix de Fer.  The relentless slog to the summit started as soon as I approached Allemont.  Uphill ascent had started about 5 kilometres prior to this.  On the way up the mountain, the only support I had was from some cows on my left who seemed to do their best to ring the large bells wrapped around their necks. 

The atmosphere was incredible even though there were no people around to offer support.  Several cyclists passed me with whom I exchanged "hellos".  Some were Dutch, an equal amount of Germans but French riders were the most commonly found. 

I remember saying to myself "I'm going to do this", particularly so when the gradients were incredibly steep over the other side of the valley.  I concentrated on remaining in a low gear.  Every time I looked down at my bike mounted heart rate monitor (HRM), the typical speed shown was 5-6mph, although on one occasion the HRM recorded 3.8mph whilst riding up a significantly steeper section.

About halfway up the mountain, I was met by a couple of photographers who were employed by website based photography organisations.  Cyclists (or anybody for that matter) can view their pictures on-line and then purchase them.  The second snapper, a female, roared "allez,allez,allez" as I passed.

I continued the seemingly endless effort up the long incline, at the same time attempting to take in some scenery.  However, I found it easier to remain focused on keeping my vision on the roads ahead.  "Press, press" were often the words I said to myself to help maintain a steady cadence.

                                                                                                               To be continued.....
 

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